Pot by Pot: How Our Mothers’ Cooking Bridged Faiths in Old Osogbo
I grew up in a six-flat compound in Ajigbotoluwa, Osogbo, where Christians, Muslims and traditional worshippers lived side by side. We never needed seminars on coexistence—our mothers’ cooking pots forged the bonds that connected us. Each festive season, families like mine, the Adewoyes and the Bamideles took turns feeding half the neighbourhood. Christmas chicken and Ileya ram transformed fences into open doors, and children looked forward to the universal language of aroma rather than the labels of religion. Politics and campaigns felt different then. We scrambled for fresh naira notes dropped from Governor Serubawon’s helicopter and chanted for M.K.O. Abiola’s presidential bid without payment—hope alone powered our voices. Above all, those days taught me that food was never the true gift—it was the relationships it carried. Today, I fear we’ve lost not just the flavours of childhood, but the spirit of sharing that once made every house a home.
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