I arrived at my godson’s mother’s hospital bedside carrying a bucket of steaming hot jollof rice, a few hours after he was born. Along with the fragrant rice, I made fried chicken and dodo (aka fried sweet plantain). In my Iro and Buba, made out of ankara fabric, I was there to welcome this child into his heritage as a Nigerian boy. He might have been born in America but as his godmother, I intend to keep him connected to his roots. One of the best things about being a Nigerian person is our connection to our foods. Jollof rice, with its long traveling roots, is certainly part of the Nigerian heritage.
Continue Reading “Mama Sunday’s Jollof Rice”
