Home Read What's New Join
My Account Login

Read Our Devotional             2016 Opportunities to be Published             Detailed Navigation

The HOME for Christian writers! The Home for Christian Writers!
The Official Writing Challenge



how it works
submission rules
guidelines for
choosing a level


submit your entry
read current entries
read past entries
challenge winners

Our Daily Devotional HERE
Place it on your site or
receive it daily by email.



how it works   Submit

Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 – Advanced)
Topic: Christmas Cooking/Baking (not recipes) (10/16/08)

TITLE: A different tongue
By Folakemi Emem-Akpan


A different tongue

I’ve said goodbye to quiet Christmases in the most shocking of ways. Not that the people in the kitchen are so many; there are only thirteen of us, a welcome change from yesterday when all of twenty two women cooked and fried and sweated into open pots. But what we’ve lost in number, we’ve gained in volume.

There are no less than four conversations going on, all at full blast, all in the Yoruba tongue.

Back in London when Wale taught me the rudiments, the language sounded mellifluous, with gentle consonants and lilting vowels. But here in this kitchen, in this friendly chaos, I struggle to recognize a single word.

I spot Wale as he passes by the door. He catches my eye, winks and struts away like it is just a coincidence that he happens to be here. But I know he came to check on me.

I never knew what it meant to sweat until I arrived this country, where it is summer almost all year long. Now I pop out in sweat every now and then. I wipe my face with my sodden handkerchief and catch my mother-in-law’s eyes as I do so.

She’s almost six feet tall but manages to carry herself with grace. She sits with grace too, her back straight and proper, her nose long and proud, eyes indescribably white, her skin color that of the midnight sun. It was awkward at first calling her Mama but it didn’t take too long to catch on. Here in Nigeria, it is the height of rudeness to call your parents-in-law by their names. You call them Papa and Mama.

Mama stands now, makes her way to me, squats by my side. “Are you okay?”

I nod quickly.

“Baa, you’re not. Why don’t you take some time off, go cuddle up with Tunde some?”

Gratefully, I rise to my feet as Mama does the same. She sees me to the door and waves me on. The living room, on this Christmas day, is filled with nieces and nephews and brother-in-laws, and of course Tunde. All a deep chocolate color.

Back in London, for the past year we’ve been married, I never saw the distinct difference in our colors, my rosebud English complexion and Tunde’s proper dark African looks. Now, in a house full of five pairs of brother-in-laws and sister-in-laws, parents-in-law and nieces and nephews too numerous to count, all of them black, I am fully aware of my whiteness.

I have also become undeniably aware of my taste buds. Hot chili is the mainstay of virtually every dish here and four days has heightened the soreness on my tongue and lips. But I’ve seen the pleasure home food gives Tunde. He half-closes his eyes into that dreamy state, concentrates absolutely on his food, rubs his stomach contentedly afterwards.

We disappear into our bedroom awhile. Amidst laughter and gentle words, I devour a packet of digestive biscuits. I know it’s dinner time soon but I don’t want to gamble on liking the food.

An hour later, we are packed into the large living room, some of us spilling out onto the terrace. I find myself sitting close to Mama, a plate of Pounded Yam and Egusi soup* in my hands.

It seems I catch Mama’s eyes too often for I do so now. She smiles with her eyes, points to her food, then makes a low aagh sound.

“You don’t like it much, do you?”

For a moment, I waver between courtesy and truth then I opt for the later.

“No I don’t.”

“Then don’t eat it. I’ll cook you some rice when we’re done.”

I can’t help but smile, a smile that reaches all the way down to my stomach.

*Pounded Yam and Egusi soup is a delicacy amongst the Yoruba people of Nigeria. Egusi soup is made from melon seeds, red pepper, spinach, stockfish, and beef.

The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
Accept Jesus as Your Lord and Savior Right Now - CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.

This article has been read 611 times
Member Comments
Member Date
LauraLee Shaw10/23/08
This is WONderful. Your last line is perfect: "I can’t help but smile, a smile that reaches all the way down to my stomach."
Laury Hubrich 10/26/08
This was a neat story to show cultural differences. Very good.
Joanne Sher 10/27/08
I love the title - perfect for this piece. You did a wonderful job of showing ALL the contrasts in this piece. Nicely done!
Gregory Kane10/27/08
Everything here sounds so authentic. And not a turkey or goose in sight! A refreshing read.
Verna Cole Mitchell 10/28/08
Your title leads into an engrossing story. I loved the sensitivity of the mother-in-law.
Angela M. Baker-Bridge10/28/08
I really enjoyed this. I was however confused if Wale and Tundre were the same person. Great insights into an inter-racial inter-cultural family.
Peter Stone11/02/08
I really enjoyed the way in which you contrasted the two completely different cultures against each other. 'Midnight sun' was meant to be 'Midnight sky?'