Skin of the Sea by Natasha Bowen

Author:Natasha Bowen [Bowen, Natasha]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2021-11-02T00:00:00+00:00

“Like this, Simidele,” says my mother, peeling the brown outer layer of the vegetable. She slices the white part and washes it in a calabash of clean water. “Now add it to the pot. It needs to boil for around ten minutes.”

I am just tall enough to be able to see into the cooking pot. Carefully, I add the sliced yam to the boiling water and then help to clear the peelings away. I check on the chicken that is stewing separately and pick up another red pepper, ready to add it.

“Not too much, Simi. All we will taste is heat.”

I roll my eyes and slip half in when her back is turned.

“When your father is choking and gasping for water, I will tell him who to blame.”

I push my tongue against my teeth and fish the pepper out with a spoon. The compound is rich with the smell of cooking, and my stomach rumbles when I think of the meal we will be sharing. It is the Aláàfin’s birthday and a great celebration is being held in the main square.

“Test it,” my mother says, peering into the pot and moving aside to make room for me. “Make sure it is soft enough.”

I lean into the steam, piercing a piece of yam with a small knife. “It’s ready, ìyá.”

“All right, now be sure that the water is not completely dried, because you will need it while pounding the yam. We can always add some, but it is better to use the water it cooked in.” She places a mortar and pestle beside the pot. “Now use the pestle to pound.”

“Like this?” I ask, grinding the pestle against the stone mortar.

“Yes, like that,” answers my mother, smiling. She wipes a shred of yam from her wrapper and places her hands on her hips as she watches me. “You are doing a wonderful job, Simidele. Well done, little one.”

“What is this?” asks my father as he enters, drawn by the smell of food. He breathes in deeply, hands on his stomach. “Who is cooking all this delicious food? The Aláàfin will smell this and demand it all!”

“Me, bàbá!” I crow. “It was me!”

He looks down, feigning shock. “No, how can this be? You are not big enough, surely?”

“I am!” I say, laughing as he picks me up and kisses my cheek, once, twice, three times. “Not only are you growing as clever and beautiful as your mother, but now you are cooking like her?”

I glance over at my mother, at her round smiling face and even teeth. She adjusts her wrapper. Even her simple movements are graceful.

To be like her? My heart swells. I grin and kiss my father back.

I blink, the memory of my mother teaching me how to make iyán strong in my mind. Her strong hands, the way she taught me just the right amount of spice for pepper soup. The compliments her food would receive before she told her stories. How everyone would watch the beauty of her shining face, as mesmerizing as the fire that they gathered around.

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