My husband just asked me to teach him how to cook eba. In London. At 43.

See ehn, my husband of 5 years, the Ghanaian man I married after my first one nearly finished me, just came into the kitchen and asked me to teach him how to make eba. Eba! In London. At 43 years old. I nearly dropped the pot of stew I was carrying.

I said, baby, why now? You have been eating my eba since we got married and you never complained. He said his colleagues at work, all of them British, have been going on about African food and he wants to surprise them at the next potluck. Potluck. My Ghanaian husband wants to show off Nigerian eba at a British potluck. Na wa oh.

So I started teaching him. First thing, I told him, you need the garri. He said, is that the one in the yellow bag? I said no, that's for akamu. He looked at me like I was speaking Chinese. Then when I said add hot water, he used cold water. Cold water! The eba turned to stone. He said, it's like cement. I said, exactly, now you know why we Nigerians have strong jaws.

Anyway, he finally got it right after three attempts. He was so proud, he took a picture and sent it to his family group chat. His mother replied, in Twi, asking if he has turned into a Nigerian woman. I laughed so hard I cried. My dear, this is what japa does to people. We leave home and start craving the things we used to take for granted. Now he wants to learn how to make jollof rice too. I told him, baby, that one is a secret. You have to be born into it.