When I was in senior high, there wasn’t enough flesh on me to make a fowl with. Now though, I think I could wrap around two cows fairly easily. Of course I’m kidding, just one cow will do. I still am!! but you get my drift? The hollow in my shoulder is long gone and the stomach that curved inwards is now slightly inverted (note the emphasis on slightly).
My friend Yaw has this theory; pot bellies are the preserves of men with poor childhoods. It’s highly contentious, but just you wait.
You see, some of us grew up in zongos where giant gutters were game reserves, not sewage outlets, heck we cooked good food with sand and hibiscus flowers. Egg (whether boiled or fried) was shared among at least four children. There were times you’d go for your plate of rice and stew and see the shiny white bulge of an egg perching right there in the center. You’d flip it over and see that you’d been tricked! It was just half of the thing! If a stubborn ah-don-care auntie or uncle happened to be around and your plan was to save that protein for the last bite, you’ll learn very quickly that earlier is always better.
Powdered milk was dished out in tiny teaspoons and the evaporated milk was served in droplets. Coke -and his brothers- was too concentrated to be drunk like that so it had to be diluted and shared among (at least) two kids. Cerelac? CERELAC? Cere-what??!! Go and drink Ma koko and Tombrown wor hor wor hor. If Arlecchino Ice Cream depended on my childhood to succeed, Read the rest of this entry »