Have you eaten? My mother would ask whenever she saw me sad. I must've eaten something but I'd also swallow a chunk of my lie. Very filling, all those lies and delicacies.

Peppers and Avocados

Just by my house stands an old, dysfunctional police station that has residents in the compound. Many of whom run petty businesses; a few traders here and there. A sweet lady used to live there too, with her children and her husband whom I never met nor knew of. She sold and blended pepper, sometimes tomatoes but always ata rodo. I never knew her name, She didn't know mine. We never asked. She just referred to me with endearing adjectives. She'd call me beautiful today, a fine girl tomorrow so I started to go to her house to blend pepper even if there was an easier option at home. Anything to support a local business. Anything to see her. My sweet lady was so beautiful. Her round face held eyes that beamed when she smiled and her skin shone. I watched her face under the sun as she took the pot from my hands. A pot I struggled with, she'd carried so easily from me. She travelled once. They said she'd be back. When she returned, it shocked me how happy we both were to see each other again. She'd even thought of me enough to bring me avocados -or maybe she just shared some of the stash she brought back. How would I know? The avocados were the best I had tasted before. I had toast throughout that day. I was thankful. Thankful that the sweet lady gave me avocados. She left the house at the police station and I haven't seen her ever since. I haven't been out to blend pepper while at home either. Yet, I still think of her as often as I can remember and a prayer is said under my breath, in hopes that she's doing well — maybe even better.

Oranges

My mother left a fruit in the garden. She had blessed the earth and called the fruit forbidden but the garden mine. I could roam around freely and make a feast of it all; me and my wife alone to this bountiful garden. A few nights at the garden, I laid awake next to my wife as she slept. Maybe I should've been asleep too but I stayed listening to my name being called out from a tree not too far off, from a voice that immediately mesmerized me. I had never heard my name said so gently, so genuinely. It wouldn't hurt to look — to see who else knew my name. I stood to walk towards the tree, and there the fruit was, dew glistening on its skin as it called to me. The forbidden fruit stripped herself of her leaves and peeled herself open, taking out her seeds and placing them on me with her pith. It stung so intensely that I surrendered, laying in the grass. I let her run from my mouth to the rod in the dirt gathered on my chest, through the pathway, into the ant hole in the middle of the field settling there for a slight tease, through the flower beds as she trickled down, tangy and sweet like an orange with beautiful eyes that somehow opened mine.

Mangoes

Three large, soft, yellow, freckled ones were chosen after I tossed and caught them in one hand, feeling my way around their bodies.

Water

Ever flowing, ever present — That is who i am to my lovers. For everyday my water turned murky and gutter-like, I watched my lovers wash their hands and hair in me, cleansing me of myself.

Holy Communion

I have seen and felt the body of my loved one. Soft as Sunday morning's fresh baked bread — glazed and sweet smelling, brittle and tender — to be had with a glass of wine in hand. I've eaten bread and drunk wine. I taste cross-flavored flesh as I bite down into the chunk of bread sitting in front of me, my lover's body. Her laughter tasted like wine — Wine I reminisce having as I sat amongst my brothers at the table.

Tangerines & Pineapples

Shedding skin to reveal meat and blood is sacred. So is buying fruit and tearing off its skin with my hands to feed a mouth that has kissed me with pure intention. Love requires labour that need not break my back but offer assurance of the intensity of my feelings. I've had tangerine juice run down my hands and onto the sleeve of your shirt by accident while prophesying my love to you. How could I have known pineapple cubes on the skin of your areola make it feel prickly and itchy?

Yam

Before my grandma died, I liked pounded yam because it reminded me of the celebration of weeks. Sunday's rice and stew staple in my household was Pounded yam and Efo riro. After her death, I liked pounded yam because it reminded me of her, her selflessness, her face that barely ever recognized me even though I saw mine in hers. She didn't really know me if we're being honest.