Eba, Efo Riro with a serving of Tears


prompted-buttonDecided to take part in yet another TipsyLit prompt.

Check out the Tipsy Lit writing prompts, guidelines and rewards –


The prompt for this week is: prompt must include an unusual or unfamiliar food. Your character could love it or hate it, struggle to determine how to eat it, not recognize it as food etc.

Check the story out below:

She is angry with me.

I can tell that this is the case because her lips are trembling, her eyes are dilated, and her chest is rising and falling really fast. Both our eyes dart to the knife on the table, the light reflects of it and bounces back off our bright yellow wall.

When we moved in, she insisted we paint the wall bright yellow. Bright neon yellow. Who paints a kitchen wall, neon yellow? The bell rings signaling the time for her to start cooking. Yet another neurotic practice of hers.

“I’m going to make you dinner.”

She picks up the knife and I watch her with wary eyes. I am not ready to leave yet, I don’t want my back to her.

“What are you going to make?”

“Eba and efo riro,” she replies. This is what she does when she is angry. She cooks some foreign meal from her country, knowing full well that I don’t eat spicy food. And the food doesn’t even look appealing. It comes in mostly browns and reds and greens – the colour of grass and soil and s***.

I watch her as she takes the gari, a grainy grey substance that resembles sand and pours it into a pot of boiling water. I notice two dear drops fall from her lashes and into the mixture, which she stirs until the substance thickens and starts to look a bit like playdough. She dumps a dollop on the plate for me and heats up the efo riro and then she folds her arms and waits. Dare I refuse the food?

She is tapping her foot now and waiting for me to make a choice, the wrong choice. I take my hand and scoop a bit of the eba she made with her tears and dip it into the efo, then I place it into my mouth and swallow. I take another bit and swallow. Her body is shaking now and I know if I look up, I will see that she is crying. But I don’t look up. I keep eating and eating till there is nothing left.

“I think I’ll have a second helping.”

She walks towards me and I fold her into my arms.

About the author

Oyinkan Braithwaite


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June 2019
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