As a growing child between the ages of 4-7, I disliked food. Eating was a chore. I can vividly remember my lunch box. Very colourful with delicious meals in it. But I would barely touch my food during break time at school. The way I took the lunch box to school was the exact same way I brought it back home. No, I wasn't skinny. On the contrary, I was very chubby(orobo) Although I had preferences, I loved indomie garnished with those big crayfish and onions(I was among the first consumers of indomie) Indomie was never scarce at home then, it was always my last resort. I also loved fried plantain(who doesn't?) Being the last born comes with a lot of privileges, but over time, I was stripped of 60% of them. Among the lot was being selective. Because my mum wanted me to eat, she would give me listening ears and prepare whatever I wanted. Sometimes, she would cajole me and call me all the pet names in the world so I would eat what she prepared. Baby of the house. My siblings would look at me sometimes and shake their heads saying," We didn't dare this in our time o! But look at you..." I didn't know my mum was going to unleash the dragon in a few years time.

As time passed, my appetite improved. But on some occasions, the baby in me would want to be pampered and I would request for something different from what was in the kitchen. One of my favorite meal was(still is) fried plantains and beans. It was the best lunch ever. Before the close of school each day, I would say a silent prayer, "God, please let me go home and meet plantain and beans for lunch. Amen" This prayer was answered most of the time but on this particular day, it wasn't. And the substitute wasn't appealing to me at all, white rice and goat meat stew.

With a frown on my face, I grudgingly carried my lunch from the kitchen to the dining table. My mum noticed the look on my face but ignored me. So I decided to play with her emotions by feigning tears. Mummy wasn't having any of that. The next thing I saw was a cane. There were countless canes at home then. Before I could say jack, a stroke landed on my left arm. "Eat! You want to keep selecting food for me abi? You don't know your mother. Oya! Start eating!" Amidst tears I took the first spoon of rice, I didn't chew, closed my eyes and then swallowed. Whoosh!!! Another stroke landed on the same arm. "Chew it! Who do you want to put in trouble?",my mum yelled. I was done for. No amount of pleading could change this woman's mind.

Luckily for me, my Grandma was around(God rest her soul). Mummy's mummy. She pleaded on my behalf and she succeeded in calming her daughter down. "Mama thank you", I thought. Then she sat beside me, told me to stop crying and then began to spoon feed me. While at it, she sneaked some scoops into her mouth as well so that the plate would be emptied quickly(our little secret)

Since the goat meat stew saga, I learned a lasting lesson. You're the last born doesn't mean you get what you want all the time. You eat what you're given or as my mum would say, "When you get to your own house, you can eat whatever you want, whenever you feel like, but not in my house."