JOLLOF AND CUSTARD. I went back for seconds and I am not sorry.

Somebody put vanilla custard next to the jollof at a Yaba wedding and I thought it was sauce. Sweet. Smoky. Creamy. Pepper at the end. I stood there chewing with the plate in my hand and I swear I understood why our ancestors fought wars. Then I looked up and my aunty was watching me from the next table, shaking her head slowly like she had found something out. She has not said anything. She does not need to.