Chimamanda Ngozi: Purple Hibiscus

pages 31-32

(...) “Yes sah! Tank sah!” They   dash out of to run or go somewhere very quickly because you are in a hurry the compound, laughing loudly.

Kevin and Sunday unpacked the foodstuffs while Jaja and I unpacked the suitcases

from the Mercedes. Mama went to the backyard with Sisi to put away the cast iron

cooking tripods. Our food would be cooked on the gas cooker inside the kitchen, but the

metal tripods would balance the big pots that would cook rice and stews and soups for

visitors. Some of the pots were big enough to fit a whole goat. Mama and Sisi hardly did

any of that cooking; they simply stayed around and provided more salt, more Maggi

cubes, more utensils, because the wives of the members of our umunna came over to do

the cooking. They wanted Mama to rest, they said, after the stress of the city. And every

year they took the leftovers—the fat pieces of meat, the rice and beans, the bottles of soft

drink and maltina and beer—home with them afterward. We were always prepared to

feed the whole village at Christmas, always prepared so that none of the people who

came in would leave without eating and drinking to what Papa called a reasonable level

of satisfaction. Papa’s title was omelora, after all, The One Who Does for the

Community. But it was not only Papa who received visitors; the villagers trooped to

every big house with a big gate, and sometimes they took plastic bowls with firm

covers. It was Christmas.

Jaja and I were upstairs unpacking when Mama came in and said, “Ade Coker

came by with his family to wish us a merry Christmas. They are on their way to Lagos.

Come downstairs and greet them.”    (...) HOVER THE HIGHLIGHTED WORD WITH THE MOUSE IF YOU NEED TO SEE ITS MEANING.