Dinner with Grandma

In the cause of our Christmas break I and my younger brother duke decided to have a tour to my grandmother's house, a place filled with charm and mystery. As we explored, we encountered a long bench and dark cooking pots, each holding untold stories. My grandmother, a guardian of tradition, shared the secret of enhancing flavors through the art of cooking with firewood.

Amidst the unfamiliar surroundings, we were treated to a feast of pounded yam and native black okra soup with stew—a culinary journey that left an indelible mark on my taste buds. Every bite became a celebration of heritage.

Yet, the joy of the tour was tinged with a hint of sadness. My grandfather, an elusive figure in our family narrative, had left this world before we could know him. The void left by his absence echoed through the halls, a poignant reminder of the passage of time.

Despite this, the visit became a tapestry of emotions, weaving together the joy of discovery and the sorrow of untold stories. In those moments, we found solace in the shared laughter and the warmth of family, creating a new chapter in the book of our shared history.