Often when I am asked what I eat for breakfast, I answer "I am not really a breakfast person".
That is of course a big resounding lie! The truth is, I am often asked that question by certain kinds of people, and I know what they are expecting: Some toffee nosed reeling off of toast and marmalade, sunnysideups, french toast, eggs bacon and sausages, a croissant, danish and coffee...etc etc...Notice the ubiquitous white-bread in all these ideal choices, and I might have mentioned that bread turns me into a bloated gassy antisocial creature.
I don't like to have people over for breakfast also. It is all part of the ruse.
I have two young children who sleep on the average eleven hours and are up like Duracell bunnies at 7:00 a.m.
I wake up on the average at 5:30 a.m. My ideal breakfast is anytime between my waking time and theirs. It would be situated in my kitchen in Calabar.
The windows will be wide open. Some tireless crickets will still be filing their nails, but the birds would have started to sing. Outside my kitchen windows, the green mangoes will be falling like landing angels, and I will be gloriously and blissfully by myself.
I assure you with every grain of integrity in my body that Toast and Marmalade will not be on the menu. The kettle will go on with all the lights. Fresh coffee beans will be ground and deposited at the bottom of a warm cafetierie.
The water will boil, then sit for a few minutes before being poured on the coffee grains. One of the five to ten books that I am attempting to read at the same time will come out.
Breakfast for me is an act of defiance, from the time spent away from my husband and children, to reading a book while I am eating, to what is on the menu...Eba with Okro soup.
The Okro of course is not going to be prepared that morning; it would take all the pleasure out of my favourite time of the day. It will emerge from a plastic container in the fridge and will be leisurely warmed in a small pot.
The rest of my coffee water is more than enough to make a small fist-size quantity of Eba. I wouldn't have to go further to make you understand why I don't answer the question of what I eat for breakfast with enthusiasm or integrity.
I don't want to have to defend my choice of breakfast, and I certainly don't want any visitors or spectators at that time and place which is without apology mine. The coffee is of course necessary to counter the soporific effects of the Eba.
The objective is not to fall asleep again, but to be armed and prepared for two pre-schoolers and life in general.
My mother will be scandalized when she reads that I used to travel the Ife-Ibadan expressway before it was dualized; to Ibadan to hang out at the weekends.
Saturday morning breakfast was a trip to Sasa market (pronounced Shasha if you are not from Ibadan). And there, myself and some friends would pass, salivating, in front of the huge ‘Agbari-Ojukwus' of soups and mounds of Amala.
The soups would be piping hot and animated with beef and goat meat, the Amala would be as light and as smooth, as beautifully textured as manna from heaven.
I who had only turned enough yam flour into Amala for two people would wonder at the strength it would take to make Amala for fifty people.
I would marvel at the time people would have to awaken to have such a feast ready for breakfast.
There, was the perfect example of the industrious man's breakfast. My friends and I were students just hanging out, among men and women preparing vigorously for the day ahead.
Feelings of hunger would not be tolerated in the course of their day.
The no-nonsense approach was more amala less meat, a spoon or so of soup and a ‘consumer's' mug of cold water. There was something special about this breakfast on a windy harmattan morning. There was also the reassurance that come 4:00p.m. one would still have fuel in the tank.
I am not of course inflexible or averse to a bowl of brown millet pap with Akara or boiled yam with an omelet, or a bowl of porridge oats; all legitimate Nigerian breakfast choices, but why be restricted? In fact, it makes more sense to me that I eat the heavy stodgy meal before the sun comes up.
There is nothing I hate like eating and at the same time, sweating profusely, and I am certainly not going to put on the generator on account of a bowl of Eba!