18/02/2024
Let me tell you a story of how I shook my entire school when I was in Primary Five (5), with swallow and egwúsi soup.
Before I start, let me ask: "You don see any child wey carry akpụ go school?" As in, pikin wey carry ezígbóté loiloi with soup inside their food flask dey chop during break time in school?”
Well, I was that child, màkà Chi (olo'un) 😅
That day, my aunt was ill and could not prepare my lunch on time. The only option was to buy from the school canteen. Of course being the glutton that I am, I knew buying food at school would do me no good because na half chop dem dey sell give us and nwa Chineke no get strength to endure hunger till 4PM.
As I dey reason how I go take dey make hunger no tidy me for school, I remembered that we still have our soup from the previous night - correct egwúsi n'ọgbọnọ wey go Cambridge. Omo, na so I tell my aunty oo. I told her I would prefer to go with garri instead of buying from school. E shock am shaa, she come give me one kain eye like “you dey whine me?”
Me wey don plan how I go take dey alright. Wetin concern open-teeth with toothpick? 🤣 I shaa convinced her and she allowed me to make the garri. In a few minutes, I was done warming the soup and served my portion in my food flask and off I ran to school.
You see, in the regimented world of primary school lunches, where sandwiches, noodles and jollof rice reigned supreme and juice boxes clinked in unison, my lunchbox container held a fragrant secret – a steaming mound of Garri and Egwúsi-Ọgbọnọ soup.
Now, bringing swallow to school wasn't exactly standard protocol. It was like showing up to a ballet in mud boots – delicious, yes, but wildly out of place. But hey, my aunty's egusi was legendary, a symphony of smoky peppers, rich melon seeds, and azụ Titus na-atọwa ntị, and since I no send anybody papa, I wasn't about to suffer afọ ọtịta just because of some unspoken lunchbox rules.
The aroma was my Trojan horse, wafting through the classroom long before lunch bell's shrill cry. Chinwe, my ever-curious classmate, was the first to sniff it out, her nose twitching like a rabbit on the scent of clover. "What's that smell?" she asked, eyes widening with a mixture of trepidation and intrigue.
"Egusi soup," I declared proudly, watching her eyebrows shoot up like startled pigeons. "The best food in the world, hands down!"
My words were barely out before a crowd materialized. John, the class daredevil, was the first to announce, very surprised with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Jesus! Class, see Chinonso is eating garri?" he said, voice dripping with bravado and excitement.
What followed was a lunch break transformed. My little foodflask became a portal to a different world, filled with laughter, excited questions, and the occasional (hilarious) attempt at mastering the art of akpu-dipping without utensils.
In a matter of minutes, words had spread the entire school about a boy in primary Five who brought garri to school. Everyone rushed to our class to see me - students and teachers alike. Those who were laughing, those who were hailing me, those who wanted to dig in - they all wore a surprised face and would go on to talk about me to their friends and family.
I literally became a celebrity and topic in my school and made more friends. The first student to eat swallow at lunchtime! 🙌🙌
It was a reminder that sometimes, the most unexpected things can be the most memorable, that stepping outside the lunchbox norm can lead to delicious adventures and open minds. And who knows, maybe I even sparked a lifelong love for egusi soup in a few curious classmates!
So, the next time you're tempted to pack the ordinary, remember the garri kid. You might just surprise yourself with the flavor and connections you'd create 😊
