Last year, some very wise person decided to declare August, 22 as World Jollofrice Day.
Last year, I was sure to observe the day by cooking a nice pot of jollof for myself. This year, I won’t be cooking any on the official day, but next weekend for sure. However, I was at a baptism reception today and I had more than three plates of jollof. Please judge me, I don’t care.
Here’s a poem I’ve written to commemorate this auspicious day, this day on which we recognize the best meal God inspired, recipe handed down from generations to generations, Angels’ meal of choice – Jollof Rice.
Be My Jollof.
Let’s make love, no let’s make my jollof.
Be the pepper, I’ll be the tomato, we’ll make the sauce that shapes this sacred meal
Let’s make sweet melodious harmony; you be the beef, I, the onion that brings out the Flavour in us.
Let’s meet, have intellectual discourse, let’s be hot like the oil that brings the tomatoes, pepper, onion, beef and stock cubes together.
Let’s be loose, spontaneous, plentiful and tough like the rice that actually makes the jollof.
Be my jollof, be my sacred west African staple, be the meal that awakens my tastebuds
Be my jollof, the one thing that binds all the guests at every gathering.
Bind my soul.
Heal my hunger, be the spoon of jollof that means more than love.
Be my jollof, fill me, taser me with your spice,
Explode in my thoughts, leave me with a smile
Be my jollof, be my richness, be my satisfaction, be my jollof, be my love.