| Imran Adebayo Ibrahim |

"Thank you for coming with me, Francis." I said, as me and Francis walked back to my house from the grocery store.

"I was actually less busy, so I needed the air." He replied, holding onto the paper shopping bag containing fresh veggies and fruits.

After I'd left school, I never planned to spend my afternoon shopping for fruits and vegetables, nor did I plan to phone Francis. What I had planned was to video-chat Saleem and spend the rest of the day watching thirty-minutes videos on YouTube. As the universe loves to torture me, it sent an unforeseen circumstance my way: my maternal grandmother and my cousin brother are in Atlanta, they'd flown from Nigeria to check up on my mother's health.

Even when I wasn't happy about their arrival, I still rejoiced at the sight of them because; only my grandmother could talk some sense into my mother, and perhaps she might start chemotherapy because of her. My cousin -- Tokunbo was my exact opposite, he was loud, garrulous and an extrovert, but we had just one thing in common, he also loved Jason Derulo.

Having a Nigerian grandmother at home was the worst: in this case, worst for the youngest at home and I eagerly won that spot. The first thing my grandmother did upon arriving was checking our refrigerator for grocery supplies. Unfortunately for us, we had all sorts of canned foods that have ever been produced, from canned beef to canned broccoli -- all of the supplies we had were processed in the way she despised: canning. When we were still in Nigeria, my grandma never made use of any canned product, especially canned beef, she called them dead-body meat. Seeing all those products in our refrigerator made her throw them all out, equivalent to me buying fresh produce at the grocery store.

Talk about a Nigerian wahala.

After the long walk back from the grocery store, we arrived at my house. I gently rang the doorbell, and the door opened swiftly like they had been waiting for us. My grandmother stood in the foyer, smiling at me, but when her gaze landed on Francis, a puzzled expression appeared on her face.

Noticing this, I cleared my throat. "Granny, this is my friend Francis," I introduced as Francis bowed slightly. He sure knew how to please Nigerians.

My grandmother's expression quickly changed as she clasped her hand together and beamed at Francis. "Francis! Welcome, welcome!" She exclaimed in her rich, musical Nigerian accent, stepping aside to let us in, "any friend of my grandchild is like a child to me. Come in, come in!" She added, ushering us inside.

As we entered, we were met by a filled living room. My mother was present, working on her laptop, Jamal sat next to her, watching the TV, and Tokunbo was watching something on Zayd's phone as they both chuckled at whatever they were watching.

"Olorun mi o!" I heard my grandmother exclaim as she gripped my shirt from behind. "Don't tell me you're not putting off your shoe before entering?" She inquired and I remained  mute as I glanced at everyone in the sitting room, I noticed none of them had their shoes on, even Francis was untying his. "How many days have you used in America and you've lost your Nigerian essence." She added with a tut, "look at your friend," she pointed at Francis who was in his rainbow colored socks now, "he has manners than you, a Nigerian. Come on get those filthy things off your leg and bring those vegetables in, now." She scolded as she walked to the kitchen.

"Yes, grandma." I muttered angrily, glaring at Francis as I removed my shoe.

"Maami, let the poor boy be." I heard my mother say.

My grandmother hissed, scoffing from the kitchen. "I haven't even started with you, eating canned food, olorun maje."

"Your grandma seems really nice," Francis whispered to me.

"Oh, you don't say." I said, pouting, "when did you start taking off shoes, ehn?" I inquired.

"It's easy Imran, as we entered, I noticed some shoes on the shoe racks, and if you're a good listener you'd know that I have a South African grandmother." He explained, laughing at my angry face.

I just scoffed at him and left for the kitchen while he sat with others in the living room.

I brought the grocery supplies into the kitchen, placing the bags on the counter. My grandmother was already boiling the parboiled rice she was going to use in the preparation of jollof rice. As I  turned to leave, she called me back. 

"Imran, come back here, cook with me, a Yoruba boy should know his way in the kitchen," she said as she added a handful of crushed bay leaves inside the boiling sauce, her tone was insistence.

I sighed, smiled and nodded, rolling up my sleeves. "What do you want me to do, granny?" I inquired.

She handed me a few ripe plantain from the bag I'd brought in earlier. "Cut these for me, not too thin and not thick please," she instructed carefully. "And remember, no fingers in the plantain." She quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

I chuckled and grabbed a knife, starting to peel the plantains. "Ouch. . . Your words are always sharp, granny." I said, my hand draping over my heart, "I've got strong hands, see," I wiggled my fingers dramatically.

She laughed, the side of her I've missed. "Strong or not, just don't get distracted."

We worked together for a few moments and suddenly my grandmother stopped stirring the jollof rice that was cooking on medium heat. "Bawo ni?" she asked in Yoruba language, her voice soft as ever.

I looked up at her, startled yet amused. "I'm fine, granny. I'm the first boy-child I'm supposed to be."

She frowned slightly, tapping my shoulder. "Everything is going to be alright, my dear," she said, her tone was gentle and firm. "I'll persuade your mother to start treatment,"  she said that part in barely whispers. "Y'know how stubborn she is, just like Olumide." She added, inhaling as she let nostalgia cloud her emotions.

I sighed, feeling hopeful. "Grandpa was the same way, wasn't he?" I chimed.

"Yes," she replied with both fondness and sadness written in her eyes, "--as stubborn as a mule, I told him not to join the Nigerian army, but he did anyway. Your mother got her strong-head from him."

I nodded, "granny, grandpa is a hero and for that, I pray Allah continues to bless him with eternal bliss." I prayed, cupping my hand.

"Ameen." She smiled, patting my hand, "do you remember the tale about the time your mother would sneak out to see Ibrahim?" She asked, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

I grinned, setting the knife down on the kitchen island. "I've heard the story, but I love hearing it from you."

"Maami, don't tell him that story, Jamal is right next to me, hearing you guys o." I heard my mother say from the living room.

"Carry on you guys." Jamal said, turning the TV's volume up.

My grandmother leaned back, her face lighting up. "Your mother was so stubborn, one night she sneaked out through her window, thinking I had no idea. But I was waiting for her in the living room when she tried to sneak back in. She had no idea I knew all along."

We both laughed, the sound echoing in the kitchen. "What did you now do?" I asked even though I know the answer.

"I let her in and pretended I didn't know anything," she said, shaking her head. "But, the next morning, I made sure to mention how mothers always know what's going on in their daughter's head. After that, she never tried to sneak out again, she just did it to my face." she concluded with a loud infectious laughter.

I smiled, feeling a little bit lighter. "Thanks, granny. For everything."

She squeezed my shoulder. "We're family, oko mi. We face everything together, like those Revengers you watch on TV."

I burst into an irritable laughter, "it's called Avengers." I corrected her, still trying to contain my laughter.

"Thank you o, Wọlé Soyinka," she quipped, chuckling softly.

With that, we returned to our cooking. I sprinkled salt and ginger on the sliced plantains while my grandmother fried it. The heavenly smell of dodo filled the air as the sound of our laughter mixed with the sizzle of the plantain in unison.

I was beyond happy she came.

Author's Note

Salaam y'all, how are you today? Hope y'all are good. What are your thoughts on today's chapter, ehn? Grandmother can be fun and also be very annoying. How is your own Nigerian grandmother?

Glossary

1. Wahala: means Problem in Yoruba language.

2. Olohun mi o: means Oh My God in Yoruba language.

3. Máami: means Mother or My Mother in Yoruba language.

4. Olorun maje: means God Forbid in Yoruba language.

5. Jollof rice: is a type of spicy rice cooked in Nigeria, it can be served with assorted meat and fried plantain.

6. Dodo: is a dish of fried plantain.

7. Báwo ni: means How are you in Yoruba language.