Ever since introducing me to Benachin, which I've been told is the original blueprint from which the Nigerian Jollof Rice is derived, I haven't stop wanting to have more. I get a high eveytime i have it. I believe that one of the herbs in there has a funny effect on me. An addictive one also. Now Bin2's gone and moved to Ghana and it's been three months since I've had my monthly Benachin.
I am not happy. I'm beginning to present withdrawal symptoms.

This is a total foodie post in case you're wondering. I want some hot, home-made benachin. My one attempt at making it was a mini disaster. Plus it simply didn't taste the same. I want the original. No knockoffs.

Sigh.

They took it all away from you. 

They took the hope and faith and then they beat out the piety and sympathy. They made you the perfect machine. They made you hike for days in the hot and sunny desert with nothing but a half-filled water bottle and a full barrel rifle. You have slept in caves and open fields alike. You can't even remember the feel of a pillow beneath your head. You have scars, burns and slashes all over your face and body. These are the proof of your survival. They beat and trod, day and night, and then they did it all over again. They didn't have faces or names. But they were your teachers and they marked your skin with their lessons. 

And boy, did you learn. 

Finally they found that picture that you had hidden in the lining of your cap. The one you only brought out on your worst days behind the shield of night. They set it on fire right before your eyes. You watched your salvation burn to ashes. That was when you knew that you were never going back. 

They took it all long ago but that was when you truly had nothing left. 

(Loss) 

What do you think my life would be like if I gave up everything I owned and kept only the clothes on my back and a guitar. I would then go on to become a street performer and my only source of income would be the pennies and loose change I receive from the commuters going back and forth from one place to another, living their busy lives and counting time in currency. 

When my pennies add up to enough, then I might get me some chicken nuggets. I love chicken nuggets. They make me happy. 

And so does my music. So I'll return to it. Do you think that I would worry less or more? If more, then maybe about more important things? If less, then thank heavens. 

I could sleep in a box on the street. I sleep like a log irrespective of where I am. I don't think that an alleyway would pose a challenge or threat. But a wild alley cat might. Or a mugger. But who would mug a homeless person though? What would I have of any value except maybe my guitar? 

Remind me to take along a pair of socks and a shawl. I hear the nights can get pretty chilly but then I could watch the open sky and stars uninterrupted. 

Wouldn't that be just beautiful? 

Also remind me to get a guitar. And to learn how to play one. 

Then I'll be on my way. 

J.