The zobo that ended a 6-year friendship and taught me to keep my mouth shut

Two years ago, my best friend Nneka and I decided we were going to blow. We had this whole plan. My late grandmother's zobo recipe, the one she guarded like gold, the one she only gave me on her sickbed. I gave it to Nneka because she said she had a connect at a lounge in Victoria Island. "We go register am together, we go blow together," she told me.

Next thing, I saw the lounge menu online. "Nneka's Signature Zobo." Not ours. Hers. She registered the name alone and signed the deal alone. I called her, she said "Chi-Chi, it's business, you know how these things go." Business. Six years of friendship, business.

I saw her at a food festival three weeks later. I didn't even plan it, I just walked up to her stall and asked her, loud enough for people to hear, "Nneka, whose grandmother's recipe is this?" She looked at me like I was a stranger. That was the end.

I cried for two days. Then I started over. Small pot, one client at a time. It's slow but it's mine. Nobody can register my name but me.

The lesson? Keep your grandmother's recipes in your chest. Some people will smile with you and still take what's yours.