Sundays Are For Akamu

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On Sundays, we had akara and akamu for breakfast, garri (eba, to many) and soup for lunch, then rice and stew for dinner. I believed we were the only family in Nigeria that had Sunday rice as dinner. Everyone else I knew had rice after Church service. Some families took this ritual very seriously. They prepared lunch before they left for church so there were no delays after 3 hours of prayers, praise and worship. The drive to Church was less than 10mins but Dad preferred we left the house 30mins before the service started. Sometimes we got to Church and the previous service was still on. He was a stickler for time, the rest of us sadly weren’t.

Church was compulsory and Dad liked to have breakfast before service, that meant his akara must be ready and akamu piping hot in time for him to eat, bathe, dress up, and drive to Church. It took a lot to wake up early to prepare Sunday breakfast. The beans had to be picked and washed, blended with a blender then with mortar and pestle, before frying; the akamu made carefully so its not watery (an art I learned without any grudge because I like akamu). We took turns for weekly kitchen duty and I always dreaded my turn.

One time my mom travelled to visit her mother, she was away for about a month. The following Sunday, Dad had breakfast and at exactly 9.30am, he came downstairs dressed and ready to go. No one else was ready, I had taken a bath but I hadn’t ironed my dress. ‘I better see all of you in Church!’. ‘How?’, my sister mumbled under her breath but Dad was gone. We weighed our options –

One, do the 25-30mins walk to Church? Service would be more than half way done when we got there as we were still not ready.

Two, damn the consequences – Dad wasn’t too strict, mom was the strict one though as we got older she soft-pedaled on the cane and resorted to scolding. She would berate us, ‘You can’t just sit at home and say you don’t feel like going to Church, you have to choose – serve God or serve the devil let’s know where you stand. You can’t be a lukewarm Christian, there is nothing like that. It is your life but you have to make a choice. Now go and get dressed, we are going to Church’.

Three, I drink hot akamu while we make up our minds? Absolutely.

I really did not want to go that day, akamu made me tired and sleepy. Reverend A may preach today. He speaks very slowly and the sermon is usually drawn out. By the time he is done almost half of the congregation is asleep. After my two bowls of akamu, I stood no chance. My sister, bread and akara in hand, ‘I think daddy believes we won’t go to Church. He will not look for us, he will come straight home and wait for us’. We decided to walk to Church but it had to be perfectly timed so we don’t get there too early nor too late as we were not there to attend service. We got there as the choristers were heading to the choir room, Reverend A co-ordinated, I am glad I stayed away. We grabbed three church newsletters and headed home.

Dad’s car was there when we got home. We crept upstairs to our room through the back door we left unlocked so he wouldn’t see we were in jeans. I remember Nigeria was playing that day and as was customary he was sleeping. He never watched Nigerian matches live.

We waited, we were ready for him.

He came downstairs for his garri and oha soup lunch. We were watching TV, newsletters in hand, still waiting. He ate, no questions. He came to join us in the living room. No questions. Seriously??? We felt like Jean-Claude VanDaft. All our moves and he didn’t ask us any questions?

Hmmm

Two weeks later, we were late for Church again, but this time, we relaxed and I drink my akamu more leisurely. Dad was back around noon, no questions asked, no answers volunteered.

This isn’t bad at all. We should do this one more time next Sunday before Mom gets back.

During dinner some 6 hours later, we are all eating on the dining table talking about the Olympics, Nigeria was doing quite well in athletics. Eating his rice and without missing a beat, Dad asked, ‘So what do you think about Reverend’s sermon on Baptism?’

Kech

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