It is Nigeria's best kept secret and in my opinion could be as successful an export product as crude oil:
moin moin, or steamed bean cake. The first time I tasted it, I fell in love. Sweet, spicy, creamy and silky... Healthy too, made from ingredients you can find all over the world. This week's
blog on YNaija is about my love affair with moin moin. But talking about food is like talking about sex: eventually you want to experience it. Find the recipe below.
(more)The big man whispers something in my ear, but the monstrous fans on the freshly cut lawn make so much noise I cannot understand him. So he speaks up. His voice is surprisingly squeaky, as if someone is squeezing his throat.
‘I could help you with rent, you know. you don’t have to settle for the Mainland.’
Being a woman in Nigeria means a large percentage of the time you are seen as a sexual commodity. Add to that being white, no matter how you look, and you also become a sexual trophy.
Read my blog on YNaija‘Animal! Beast! You idiot!’ The taxi driver’s following lines are lost on me because they are in Yoruba. Judging his expression and intonation the content is at least equally insulting as his tirade in English. In his opinion, the bus driver coming from the opposite direction should have given way. Needless to say his opponent does not agree, which the latter expresses in a language matching his counterpart’s abusiveness. The two happily insult each other for a couple of minutes, not minding holding up traffic on this back road in Surulere near Lagos University’s Teaching Hospital. Then they move on as if nothing happened.
Lagosian anger management: read my blog on YNaija‘Funkeeee!’ Immediately when I come walking around the street corner, they notice me. My neighbours in this little part of Ebute-Metta have not forgotten about me. Little Gbenga comes sprinting out of the corridor where his mum was dusting his neck with talcum powder. ‘Auntie Funke!’ When he grins, I see a hole: there’s one baby tooth missing. It reminds me of my eldest niece who is also changing teeth. They are of the same age. Mikkey, one of the street’s fathers, sends for a bottle of STAR for him and me. Even when it is only eleven thirty in the morning, I would not dream of refusing.
Read my blog 'Femke becomes Funke'
It is Nigeria's best kept secret and in my opinion could be as successful an export product as crude oil: moin moin, or steamed bean cake. The first time I tasted it, I fell in love. Sweet, spicy, creamy and silky... Healthy too, made from ingredients you can find all over the world. This week's blog on YNaija is about my love affair with moin moin. But talking about food is like talking about sex: eventually you want to experience it. Find the recipe below.
The big man whispers something in my ear, but the monstrous fans on the freshly cut lawn make so much noise I cannot understand him. So he speaks up. His voice is surprisingly squeaky, as if someone is squeezing his throat.
‘Animal! Beast! You idiot!’ The taxi driver’s following lines are lost on me because they are in Yoruba. Judging his expression and intonation the content is at least equally insulting as his tirade in English. In his opinion, the bus driver coming from the opposite direction should have given way. Needless to say his opponent does not agree, which the latter expresses in a language matching his counterpart’s abusiveness. The two happily insult each other for a couple of minutes, not minding holding up traffic on this back road in Surulere near Lagos University’s Teaching Hospital. Then they move on as if nothing happened.
‘Funkeeee!’ Immediately when I come walking around the street corner, they notice me. My neighbours in this little part of Ebute-Metta have not forgotten about me. Little Gbenga comes sprinting out of the corridor where his mum was dusting his neck with talcum powder. ‘Auntie Funke!’ When he grins, I see a hole: there’s one baby tooth missing. It reminds me of my eldest niece who is also changing teeth. They are of the same age. Mikkey, one of the street’s fathers, sends for a bottle of STAR for him and me. Even when it is only eleven thirty in the morning, I would not dream of refusing.
