My dad (a Nigerian whose principal adversary was levity) did not eat Christmas Biscuits/Christmas Meringues because he didn’t like ‘sweet stuff’. His favourite food was raw onion. I would frequently have to bring him raw onion slices as a snack, which meant I began to associate my dad’s hunger with crying. I looked forward to reaching a similar state of zen, wherein I too could view my lethal breath as Other People’s Problem. ‘Who am I trying to impress?’ he would say. Yet, ironically, his steadfast refusal to try to impress was impressive.
