Of Blisters, Rage and the Perfect Pounded Yam

Yesterday, I lost another (second this year) dear family member. An Aunt.

The day before, I got emotionally shuffled.

I guess I just flared up. The pain and anger were locked up somewhere inside of me. I was mad at everything at the same time. It was weakening and stressful. I was losing strength and I had no control over it.

My Aunt, the one I’m staying with in Nassarawa, wanted to eat pounded yam. I was making soup when the help came and told me that the yam was done. I asked her not to bring the yam down yet as I was trying to finish something I was doing with the soup. When I went out to meet her, I found that she had brought the yam down and drained it of the water. The yam was dry and hard. I was even madder but I managed to pull strength to pound.

When the first round was done, I asked her to leave the rest for me. I pounded till my blisters bled. I pounded even when my hands hurt from the bleeding blisters and my brain screamed for me to stop. There were tears in my eyes when I finished, tears in my eyes and less pain in my heart.

I finally understand why people box when they are angry, sad or confused. Pushing all that negative energy into something is really refreshing, I tell you.

When I was done, I had time to reflect. I told myself that death is not an end in itself, but a means to an end. She died at peace. The least I can do is make sure my life honors her legacy. And then I mustered enough strength to take the first step to make peace with my emotions.

At the end, the blisters brought healing and peace where there was painful rage.

At the end, the food turned out great!

My blisters still hurt sha.

So I’m not pounding yam in a while.


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