Plaintains.....................................................Joannah Nwokeabia

Joannah Nwokeabia

Plantains

As I hover over the thirsty pot of hot oil waiting to swallow soft plantain chips in its sea of bubbles, I look down and see her calloused hands with stubby nails fervently peeling off the skin of those grotesque massive things, clawing until she reaches the sweetness. This is the part she fed us. I remember her marching us little ones, Nwatakiri, to the market Sunday afternoons, one hanging from her neck on her back like the sun, one sandwiched between her armpit, breast and sweet musk. She cupping my little hand in her larger one and her purse in the other Would find the ugliest plantain Dark battered oozing but deep fried they were golden and delicious. She scooped the sweet chips from the pot and the angry oil jumped, landing on her neck or breast leaving pillowy spots on her skin for us to play with before we balanced the scalding chips on our little finger tips and she, Ugo, fierce fearless rests her head on her shiny talons and laughs.