Ismail Hadiyyatullah
@ismailhadiyyatullah119324
1 year ago

SOKOYOKOTO

Plucking her Soko in her backyard is a
like your rise from your bed after the sunrise
asking her why the time,
waking her up will affect the taste of the soup she believed
Allowing her to breathe, feel the breeze
And feel the light of the new day
All these energy would transfer into the soup
All these carings would go into its taste.
The taste that lingers forever
in the memory of the savourers.
I once stayed with her when she cooked her last Soko soup.
The timing of plucking was never erred
She cooked it for few minutes
There she maintained it's greenness
Like an evergreen tree during the summer.
She allowed the Soko vegetable to relax for a while
Llike a beautiful skin by the Miami Beach sunbathing.
The vegetable had dehydrated as the water had found its way back to ground.
I see, everything from the soil and to it everything shall return.
As the leaves of vegetables merged together in a bowl, I was hearing the ooze of boiling oil like the noise of the waves of an ocean in the darkness of the night.
I really pitied the vegetable when she would eventually rest in the pot.
In a twinkling of an eye, my grandma had hand-blended the peppers who would first catch the wrath of boiling oil
As the Soko vegetable was on its way accompanying her the chopped ponmo.
Later, the blended pepper was laid to the pot in a total submission while small small ponmos subsequently joined the show.
After some calculated minutes, a merged vegetable was slightly scattered welcoming the sprinkle of salt in its fold.
As the pepper was dancing in the fire like fishes that lost their inhabitant.
The Soko vegetable finally rested in the pot, there I was hearing sokoyokoto,sokoyokoto and sokoyokoto.
After everything had cooked and blended together, my grandma served us the soup along with Amala and Ogunfe meat.
We were sweating profusely as we were savoring the soup.
Grandma never lived to cook Soko soup again!