“Good honey from Abeokuta!” He smeared a spoonful on a soft slice of Senegalese bread. The honey sank into our tongues, a deep earthy malt flavour that didn’t exist in the glass jars of imported honey we bought at Goodies Supermarket. Taiye took to ripping off hunks of bread and dipping them into a shallow bowl of honey that our father set on the dining table for us. Between mouthfuls, she asked about honey, about bees and their hives, about beekeepers.
