She comes over to his place every weekend, mostly on Friday nights. She stays till Sunday evening before taking her leave. On each visit, she never fails to bring along food items—fruits, vegetables, palm nuts, ugba—in big bags to restock her king’s house.

Within a space of two days in her man’s apartment, that womanly presence is felt. The sound of pounding with wooden mortar echoes through the building, accompanied by a lot of worship songs sang with a nasal, soprano voice that has so much vibrato.

In no time, the aroma of a well prepared ofe owerri, ofe akwu, ofe ogbono, would saturate the building. Each distinct aroma follows the other—back to back. Since I can always access the adjoining apartment where everything goes down, during such moments, a visit to the kitchen feels like being on set of Maggi kitchen live show. Because this light-skinned, robust aunty knows how to put together the essentials in excess. She can cook for Africa. There is full chicken and turkey on one side, isi ewu and snail the

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