Growing Greener Grass…Memoir


There is absolutely so much to remember. I remember playing in the fields with my siblings and neighbors, and always being time conscious to go in just to avoid been called upon. I also remembered jumping from the veranda in the house straight to the fields and giving marks to know who had the longest jumps. I remember going to the side of the house to sit under the trees and help ourselves to the different varieties of fruits we had.

I remember playing “green light red light” and “mother may I?” and the “square suweé” with my siblings. ( I wonder if kids of today know the game). I remember when we had a chicken for a pet, and how we cried when it was been killed but never did when eating it. Yes, a white chicken. I remember the beginning of our poultry farm, and I loved the “day old chicks” stepping on me and tickling me. I remember watching them grow alongside the type of feed they were given. From “day old” to “growers mesh” then to “layers”. I can still recall the tactics we had to put when feeding them to avoid them flying on you. I remembered having a particular dress for cleaning of the poultry, and how we’d go to town to get the chaff from a sawed wood (sawdust) to pour on the floor of the poultry house. I remembered looking forward to the eggs and chicken meat that they soon became an every day meal, with nothing special attached to them.

I remember my siblings and I paying for favors with a piece of meat, spoons of rice or a horse ride on the back as the case maybe. I remember my dad not flogging us, but when he calls your name in that “tone” and drags your ear alongside pinching it and then giving you a knock on the head, then you would rather he flogged you. I remember coming back from primary school and making garri in mortar and pestle. Yes, not in pots or bowls as is usually done now. I remember peeling egusi that is to be used for soup and pounding it in a mortar, gradually to use of a manual blender and then to the electric blender and finally to buying in large quantities and grinding same in the market. I also remember pounding tomatoes in a mortar and taking a step further to a manual blender and two steps further to an electric blender and now finally to buying in baskets, cooking and storing in the freezer.

I remember my village days visitation when they assumed we were “township people” and, therefore, won’t know how to handle a hoe, yes, I clearly remember my sisters and I going to grandma’s farm and working like we’ve done it all our lives, thereby making some lips sealed. I also remembered accompanying mum to the homes of people who had an occasion the following day, and one is expected to come a day before to help. I sat on the stool before an empty mortar hoping the woman “on duty” would put some “fufu” for me to pound. She gave me a stare of ” this is no child’s play”, I ignored her stare and waited for her, by the time I was done pounding the fufu( first and second pounding), so many mouths were shut that night. We may not have grown up in the village but mum’s training made us equal to anything a village person was capable of.

I remember acting with my siblings, “Baba” (native doctor) was a character we steadily have in our drama and can be acted by anyone, provided you found a lost item from any of us. All the character needed was to sit on the floor, with his/her face covered with white paint and neck adorn with beads and the floor scattered with stones and broken calabashes. I also remember when we would queue up in front of one of our peers, who had a plate of “ijakwu” (tapioca or cassava flakes) and pretended like we were receiving holy communion. (lolz) we would take it and walk gently to a seat, chew it and come back again for another.

I remember being dressed up alike with my siblings, (mum did a good work in our fashion sense I must say). I remember and still remember and will always remember a lot of things, memories indeed are beautiful.

I remember having my own “coat of many colours” this time around bought by my dad. A gown I had for having all “A’s” in my grade. My new gown at primary 3 or 4 came to be known as my “A dress”. I remember my younger siblings playing football in the living room and breaking dad’s enlarged picture ( enlarged pictures were done with glass in the good old days), and dad slashing the ball with a knife, after punishing them as he deemed fit.

We would always hide to soak garri, and on a particular day, we were at the very act when we heard our dad approaching our bedroom, we were so smart that we had to hide the soaked garri under the bed. Dad walked in, looked around and saw our plates of beans with a bottle of water but no cup was seen, which he commented on. We all burst out laughing as we knew it was a case of being caught red-handed. Lolz

Today’s actions are memories of tomorrow, just as yesterday’s activities gives us memories of today. Hence the growing greener grass, and not the grown grass.

#shout out to our beautiful mothers; we love you, happy mothers day#.



Photo Credit: Google


4 thoughts on “Growing Greener Grass…Memoir

  1. Ezy Ada says:

    Hmmmmmm. Good one, d memories r so real, I just remember my growing up, just too similar


  2. Choice Godwin says:

    Yeah i can really reckon with some of those.Life was less stressful then, we had a more healthy and beautiful life then.


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