Kitchen, The Unisex Salon That Every Man Should Visit.

It all started in 2007 when my parents left Abossey-Okai to live in Olebu-Ablekuma in Ga Central in the Greater Accra Region, Ghana. I was in my final year at Wesley Grammar Senior School, Dansoman, also in Accra.

I refused to relocate with them, with the excuse that staying at Abossey-Okai would enable me to wake up early in the morning and go to school in Dansoman without being late. In my mind, I didn’t want to live with them in Olebu-Ablekuma because, in Olebu, there was no electricity, internet cafe, and most importantly, I would not be able to visit some of my friends.

My parents were liberal enough to allow me to stay with, Kamajal, my cousin. We shared a single room that had no restrooms. We paid and used the public restrooms. Kamajal didn’t frequently stay in the room he rented, so I ended up paying most of the utility bills, especially the electricity. His absence further granted me the freedom to do anything I wanted. Despite this, I remained committed to my going to school and being a good boy. I trekked to school despite the money I was given for transportation and daily feeding.

The issue of food started creeping in anytime I came back from school. I used to eat mashed yam with cow milk, boiled yam with stew, and yam fufu with egusi light soup. I struggled to eat Fante and Ga kenkey and other foods that I wasn’t used to eating while living in the Northern region.

I complained to my mother and she made two suggestions. She said, “Come to the Yam Market to eat food after you return from school. You know we prepare food for the people[yam business partners] who bring yams for your father to sell. She also said, “there are some cooking utensils that I left behind in the old apartment. You use it for yourself if you do not like the idea of coming to eat at the market after you return from school. I will supply you with the ingredients to start with.”

I didn’t like the idea of going to Agbloglohie to eat dinner and coming back to sleep at Abossey Okai. I would go there 3 or 4 days a week, but I got tired of juggling between Abosseey-Okai and Agbogbloshie just to have dinner. This forced me to reconsider the second suggestion, which was to start cooking for myself!

I was excited about cooking because I always wanted to learn how to cook but our culture does not allow men to cook. In fact, men including me are “pampered and spoiled” when it comes to cooking. In short, a man’s duty includes weeding the grass and slaughtering animals including chickens and goats. Women cook the food and serve the men. In growing up in the village, Kapoeto, and in Accra, my junior brothers and I would watch my sisters cook and serve us!

I started the cooking expedition by making palaver sauce[cocoyam leaves] with egusi [melon seeds]. I cooked jollof rice for the first time. It was a disaster sauce and “watery” jollof rice, I thought in my head that “this is not the kind of foods mama cook for us.”

The cooking expedition continued. I felt I needed more tutorials in order to make good food for myself. I regularly visited my mother at the yam market just to receive tips on how to prepare a particular sauce or soup. This continued for a while until I went to the University of Cape Coast where I couldn’t visit my mother for in-person cooking lessons. Shuttling between Cape Coast and Accra to receive cooking instructions from my mother wasn’t attainable. This meant that I had to devise ways to communicate with my mother in order to keep the cooking expedition alive. I resorted to “telephone cooking.” I would regularly call my mother on the weekends to receive cooking tips.

At the University of Cape Coast, my cooking skills improved. I received positive feedback from some of my friends who ate the food I cooked. According to them, I was now making delicious palaver sauce with boiled yam and jollof rice. But I wasn’t satisfied with the positive feedback I received from my friends who ate my food. Sometimes, I would ask Franka, a friend and hostel mate to taste my food to see if it was ok.

“Johnny your food tastes delicious. Your wife will enjoy it. Please don’t stop cooking when you marry,” Franka told me.

Despite the positive feedback that I received from my friends, I would still call my mother on the phone to complain that the food I cook wasn’t delectable.

She would jokingly laugh and say, “You better learn how to cook. What if you marry a woman who doesn’t know how to cook?” Before my parents left Abossey-Okai to live in Olebu, my mother had already initiated me into cooking, by insisting that I help my sisters to pound yam fufu. Little did I know that Adjoa-Grace Nsaman, my mother, is a prophetess and was prophesying into my future.

When I came to the United States in 2017 to study at the Clinton School of Public Service, I brought with me the culinary skills that an African woman had instilled in me. Initially, I was lazy to cook. I resorted to buying food at restaurants. But the food wasn’t tasty like what I used to eat in Ghana. It was difficult for me to keep buying food that I wasn’t able to eat.

I met Nicole, a Nigerian American, and informed her about my predicament and she introduced me to her family. At this time, I didn’t allow my fear of eating from peoples’ homes to continue to deny me some delectable eba with okra soup, egusi stew, moimoi, etc. Nicole’s mother bought me the first cooking utensil in the United States.

In the United States, I still communicate with my mother on WhatsApp videos not only to chat with her but also to ask her for help in cooking some traditional soups such as dried okra leaves with smoked tilapia, one of my favorite soups. Recently, I video phoned her to receive instructions and recipes on how to make groundnut stew and soup. The culinary skills that I received from my mother, Maafia- a friend and Madam Agyeiwaa, Maafia’s mother, and Nkaylife’s mother have enabled me to settle well in the United States.

Because of my mother and these wonderful women, I have perfected my culinary skills. I’ve transitioned from making bad palaver sauce and watery jollof rice to cooking delicious jollof rice, okra soup, fufu, grilled tilapia, and tasty kebabs. I received excellent positive feedback from both men and women who ate the jollof rice and kebabs. I cooked and grilled meats and fish at friends’ parties. Because of the good compliments that I received from my friends, I am tempted to own a food truck.

Not only did I cook for friends but I am also cooking for my hybrid family. Today, that prophecy has been fulfilled because I married a white woman who doesn’t know how to cook Ghanaian dishes. Today, I am able to cook delicious meals for my wife, in-laws, and party meals for close friends all because I received training from hard-working women. From my biological mother to Maafia, and from Madam Agyeiwa, all I did was listen to them when they instructed me on how to cook a particular meal. Listening to the women of value has shaped my perception of the kitchen. Today, I enjoy cooking as a relaxing hobby, more than a survival skill.

I drew valuable experience from the cooking expedition. I learned that the words and teachings of a mother are not just words but prophetic utterances that should be meditated upon day and night if one wants to succeed in life. In fact, mothers are polymaths who shape their children’s features. Mothers play core responsibilities in bringing up a child. I’m definitely grateful for all the cooking lessons I’ve had with my mother over the years. It may have started as a reluctant solution to a temporary problem, like a young boy dragging his feet on the way to the barber. But now I’ve found how much I truly enjoy cooking, and the way sharing a good meal makes me feel.