I cannot remember how old I was when my parents insisted that we speak Yoruba at home because we were learning and speaking English in school. It must have been before I turned 6, because my brother’s first sentences were a mash of Yoruba and English.
For my parents, it was about giving us a heritage that would be ours in a way they probably did not think English could fully be. Now, English and Yoruba are the languages in which I think, speak, and move through the world easiest. Still, these languages, on their own, were never able to give me an easy pass into community in Nigeria.
With the deft hand of a long-time homemaker, Adelina took some spoonfuls of the bell-pepper sauce out of the pan and spread it onto a sheet of flatbread dough, to make coca de recapte—which she topped off with anchovies and olive tapenade. “I think I will also make you a cake” she said as she plopped heavy dollops of orange confiture and sweet pumpkin puree on another sheet of dough, rolled on to make tiny holes.
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