I sat on a small stool in our compound, in front of a coal pot. On the fire was a medium-sized metal pot with oil sizzling in it, and around me were small flat plates of already prepared ingredients: blended onion, pepper and spice, pureed tomatoes, a big bowl of cooked chicken, some rice, and all the other things I would need to make a good pot of jollof. Like a little mother, I had tied a cloth around my chest and was surrounded by my younger brother and the neighbours’ children, who watched me hungrily, eager for the food to be ready. "Great chef !" our neighbours would shout from time to time, as they conversed loudly about my cooking prowess with my uncles, who were beaming with pride. I myself was feeling swollen-headed. The only snag was that my mother had been away on her business trip to Togo for three days now, and occasionally, my heart would jump for fear that something bad had happened to her. Enyonam — It is well with me I came into this world on a Thursday morning— 7th August 1975—at Prince of Peace Maternity Home in Abeka, Musuli, around 8 a.m. My birth was through the loins of Lt. Col. (Rtd.) C.J. Adigbo and the womb of Madam Cecilia Nyakpor. A few hours later, I was referred to 37 Military Hospital, Early Sparks. “Some beginnings are simple, but they carry the echo of grace.” C H A P T E R 1 4 The Birthday Journal
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