A growling sound fills my office. My stomach is reminding me it’s lunchtime. It’s a Friday and I’ve spent most of the day trying to keep my excitement under wraps. My coworker has invited me for a traditional Nigerian lunch, marking our first time doing something together outside the office.
In our office, representative for most Nigerian workplaces, lunch isn’t usually a social affair. Most people keep their hunger waiting until the evening or satisfy it with some crackers. Occasionally, especially after payday, some might order food. Like for most situations, this is not done via Apps but by asking people for a service. And so, most of the cleaners and security guards take food orders and pick up meals from nearby restaurants or street vendors for hungry office workers. These meals, typically chicken with rice, are devoured while working.
This reflects what I’ve come to understand about the approach to food here – it’s often functional rather than social or indulgent. And there is good reason for that. Floodings, droughts and violence like banditry disrupt agriculture and there is estimations that food insecurity is affecting 25 million people this year in Nigeria. Fresh food like fruits and vegetables are expensive, often poor in quality and limited to a few varieties.
The focus on carbs and meat will also show in my food experience today. I have managed to quiet my stomach with a quick cup of instant coffee, but my colleague is ready to go. I am both excited and nervous. Since arriving, I’ve been anxious about food but after a month it seems like my stomach has finally adjusted to the different bacteria, but a hint of worry will keep sticking to food, I have learned.
We leave our office and head to the next building until we reach the creche. At my workplace, a feminist organization, there are various benefits for mothers including childcare. We pick up her son, who would not direct his gaze off me. Soon, we’re in her car, headed to my first Amala meal, a dish typical of Yoruba land in the southwest, as she explains.
We turn off the big highway onto a dirt road that leads us to a simple one-story building with a small parking lot. Inside we’re told to wait as the next batch of Amala is being prepared. In the meantime, we are drinking a self-made hibiscus lemonade. My colleague adjusts her wig and pulls out her phone, Snapchat open. “Let’s take some snaps”- she says and I obediently smile into the camera. On her screen, I see our faces with big lips, bright cheeks, and exaggeratedly sparkly eyes. Beauty filters seem essential here, another reflection of the value placed on appearance.
Finally we’re called up to order. We glance through the glass that separates us from the large pots of food. While I am trying to identify anything I can see, my colleague orders for the two of us in a determined tone. Here, if you want something specific, yopu need to be assertive- otherwise, people might serve you whatever they think best. Politeness, as I would say unfortunately doesn’t always yield the best results. Social hierarchies between service workers and customers are very strong so clear orders are expected, not a friendly inquiry or question.
Our food is brought to the cashier and my colleague grabs a spoon. I reach for cutlery too, but she shakes her head- “you have to eat in the traditional way” she remind me. As the food is brought to the table, I go to wash my hands at a nearby sink. Back at our table, seated on plastic chairs, I assess the plate in front of me. The base of the plate is covered with a black, thick paste- the Amala, which I learn is made from yam or cassava flour. On top of it, a green pea soup, a yellow stew, some red sauce and two pieces of meat.
I have left behind my vegetarianism in Europe due to the scarcity of options. However, I have to be honest with you, nibbling on bones and eating types of meat I haven’t even heard off before are still a big challenge for me. And while I am trying to push away the images of cute goats in my head, I take a first bite of the goat meat. Instantly, my tongue is on fire. “Peppe(r)”, as they call it, definitely is all over Nigerian food and we are talking about habanero chilis in most cases. Attempting to calm the heat, I awkwardly dip a piece of the wabbly Amabla into the pea soup. My colleague laughs as she calmly shoves a spoon into her mouth with one hand, balancing her son on her lap. Holding her baby, she tells me, allows her to use cutlery, while I have to brave the meal with my hands.
Next, she urges me to try the “Ponmo”. I see a squared, translucent square and naively assume it must be a long-cooked pepper. The chewy texture quickly proves me wrong – it’s cow skin, a local delicacy. I try to chew respectfully but I am struggling with taste, consistency and the thought of what I am eating. Finally, I decide to focus on the soups. leaving the meat aside. After trying to clean the soup on my nose and my elbow with a tissue, my colleague takes pity on me and allows me to use a spoon. My nose is running from the spice and I can feel my back being sweat through from the heat in the air and the challenging situation. Eating in a steady paste with the spoon allows me now to start to truly enjoy the flavors. The soups are rich and spicy, the sauce adds a good amount of spice and the Amala caresses my tongue with its softness.
With a guilty smile, I hand back my plate with leftover meat to the waiter. My colleague, amused, shows me a video she took of my struggle chewing the cow skin. Laughing loudly, she says, I’ve made her day and I’m glad I coud provide some entertainment.
After washing my hands, I hold her baby for a moment while calling an Uber to take me home. It was a lovely afternoon, I think, spending time with my favourite colleague outside the office and trying traditional food. Yet, I feel drained. Even small activities like lunch seem to come with layers of complexity and unexpected complications at most times and balancing respect for local customs with my own habits has left me feeling worn out. Now it’s time to go home and unwind in in the most universally appreciated way here: going home to relax.
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