I didn’t feed myself until I was eight years old. My mum would huff and puff threats to leave me at home if I didn’t eat the food in front of me, but the gag was that I actually wanted to stay home and read my Enid Blyton books in peace. Even when I was being fed, it took hours for me to finish my food, whether it was noodles or rice or yam or soup — let’s not even talk about beans and all her sisters.
I didn’t like anything except bread and tea and everybody complained. “Why won’t you eat anything else?” “Are you going to be eating bread and tea for the rest of your life?” One time, my aunt came from Lagos and she was frustrated that everyone had left me to my devices, so she decided to feed me herself. She sat me down and loaded some cereal in my mouth, holding my nose to make sure I swallowed. When she was done, I threw up in her face. After that, they just let me do what I wanted when it came to food. Before my aunt left, she said, “One day, bread and tea trees will grow on your head.”
Something about fluffy baked dough paired with warm powdered milk and Milo just clung to my taste buds and never left. It had to be a loaf of bread though; I hated sliced bread. My mum knew just how I liked the bread and tea combo so she also fed it to my brothers. I’d sit there chewing, arms folded, eyes reading the bread wrapper, waiting for her to stuff my mouth with food. In those moments, it was as if I was wrapped in a cocoon of safety and familiarity. Everything else in the world was put on hold, and during those precious seconds, nothing could touch me. Not the dawn of a new day, which meant I had to go to school. Not the hours leading up to until I see my wicked lesson teacher, who always gave me assignments he didn’t teach in class. Not the time when someone broke into the compound and tried to steal from our landlord even though I could see him through the curtains.
I remember one night, my aunt was ironing the clothes she had just sewn while I played with scissors in the corner of the room. I don’t why I went and cut the wire connecting the iron to power but I did. When my aunt realised what I had done, she was so angry she asked me to report myself to my mum. In my mum’s room, she had just boiled water for tea and was about to call me to bed. As I sat there, sipping and nibbling, I felt my worries slip away. Of course, my aunt eventually reported me herself but I had already fallen asleep. The simple act of eating this familiar meal made me feel safe and loved. As I grew older and faced new challenges and uncertainties, even the ones I caused myself, I went through it knowing that bread and tea continued to provide me with the same sense of comfort and security.
Before I went to boarding school, everyone warned me that nobody would be there to feed me and I listened and braced myself, so when I arrived, it wasn’t so much of a big deal. I ate the meals the school served us except beans. Every morning, we had bread and tea before we started classes, except on Saturday mornings when they served moi moi, which I also did not eat. I didn’t mind everything else as they were simple foods like rice and stew or eba and okra — nothing too ambitious, so I learned to get with the program for sustenance even as I looked forward to the next morning to be reunited with my one true love.
By the time I got to senior secondary and was more confident in boarding school, I snuck in extra sachets of milk to the dining room to make my tea extra creamy. I grew to love Bournvita, Richoco and even Lipton tea. I also played with different temperatures, but nothing beats warm Milo and milk. I grew to accommodate sliced bread and eventually toast but soft agege bread you can mould in your palm still takes the cake.
As I grew older and my taste in food changed — I now eat beans but only with garri, milk, groundnut and sugar — but my love for bread and Milo remained constant. I still turn to bread and tea when I need comfort. Whenever I’m feeling down or homesick, I make myself a cup of Milo to go with some bread. It has to be done a particular way — extra-soft today’s bread. taking me back to childhood, and a strong feeling of warmth and comfort that only this meal can provide.
In many ways, my relationship with bread and tea is a reflection of my childhood. It represents a time when life was simple and uncomplicated, and my family was always there for me. Even though my life has changed, my love for this simple meal has never wavered, despite the fact that it is fattening and as an adult woman with excruciating menstrual cramps, I should consume less sugar.
But it’s also more than just a childhood favourite; it’s a symbol of safety for me. As a child, no matter what happened, my mum feeding me at the beginning and end of each day was my grounding routine. Her unwavering presence despite her life struggles was something I cherished.
Bread and tea is a reminder of when everything was right in the world. It also reminds me that no matter where life takes me, I will always have this simple meal to remind myself of soft, present love, even if it means growing a tree on my head.
