Nigeria Content Online

Who
has heard that one about how parents of newborns name their children in
Calabar? A tin plate is flung against the bare floor at the naming, and
whatever sound it makes is the child’s name. It’s an appalling joke,
but at least it registers the non-indigene’s bewilderment at the
intonations, and tricks on the ear that the Efik and Ibibio languages
play.

I must admit that I
am near giving up on ever successfully speaking either language. But
because I am the glutton that I am, every syllable of every word that
concerns food falls on my ears like the sound of a running stream. This
week it is the turn of Ekoki made from fresh maize or Ukpo Oka as the
Igbo and Anioma call it. My husband calls it a tongue twisting Ekoki
Ibikpot (cue in more infantile jokes about the similarities between
Efik and Chinese).

I think of Ekoki as
the queen of delicacies because it is perfect only at this time of the
year when maize is unambiguously fresh.

It is an
interesting season. Between last week and now, the price of yam has
doubled along with the condescension of market women selling it. Eating
yam is literally like eating gold. One either pays the price or bears
the bitter taste and melting texture of new yam. And perhaps it is only
psychological, but as the mind registers the value of old yam, its
taste significantly improves. It is really sweet, texturally and
otherwise like gold. As a sign of the times, each yam is marked boldly
in the market; identified so that there is no question of whom it
belongs to.

Fresh corn is on
its way out. And with it those women who roast cobs over coals in
basins, in the shade of trees on every street corner. They are not yet
gone and I am already nostalgic. The season has passed all too quickly.

I was given seven
cobs of white maize. It felt reassuring to peel layers and layers of
leaves, and detach the heads of silk to reveal the unique shape of each
ear. I had not done these things since I was a child, and considered it
a chore. It was pure joy to have my senses awakened by the smell of
freshness.

I then
painstakingly pried out each seed, much to the annoyance of members of
my household who passed and observed what they considered wasted
diligence. Someone suggested that I use a knife, another that I use a
grater, which is what was traditionally used in the preparation of
Ekoki. I self-righteously declined. The first would only retrieve half
of the seed, the other too much of the cob. I did not want to waste the
maize, nor did I want the grittiness of the cob. Sore thumbs and the
passage of time were a small price to pay.

I blended my seeds
of maize with water, garlic, ginger, salt, leeks, onion and fresh
pepper. I found that no matter how long I blended the maize, the
consistency remained grainy. The blended maize was so fresh; it looked
and smelled like milk. I must make a note that I did use parts of the
cob, near the head where it was youngest.

To the medley, I
added blended smoked fish and a generous amount of palm oil. This was
no ordinary palm oil. It was the first time in my life, that I had seen
palm oil that resembled red wine. Like the maize, it was a gift from
Ogoja, presented in a small recycled Ragolis water bottle. Unlike the
palm oil that I am used to, the top of the oil was beautifully
transparent; obviously the very first grade of oil which the Yoruba
call “Ogere”. City slickers like myself may never encounter this grade
of oil in their lifetime.

Another revelation
was the moin moin leaves (ewe eran). In Lagos, these leaves are sold to
us with the greatest condescension in the market. There, the market
women make you buy both the small and large leaves as a package. You
are not allowed to pick and choose. Here in Calabar, the leaves are as
broad as you like, and for N50, you have enough to roof a house.

My Ekoki was gently
divided among folded moin moin leaves, deveined fresh prawns added, and
steamed for about 45 minutes in a steamer. In the first five minutes of
cooking, the smell of steaming leaves completely ravaged the house.

Perfectly cooked
Ekoki bounces when tapped with the fingers. It retains its grainy maize
texture. The smoked fish gives it maximum flavour without fishiness.
The prawns, protected from direct heat, yet steamed perfectly add
personality to it. There is no Asian dim sum that can stand in the
presence of my Ekoki.

It is unbearable to think I must wait till next year to eat it again.