True story for laughs: An American fly in a vegetable stew

BY USMAN MAMA

Upon his return to Africa after completing an advanced degree in an American university, Tollah received a warm reception from his immediate family. The day of his arrival, his mother fixed his favorite dish: a spinach stew cooked with palm oil and smoked fish, and served with wô, a cornmeal popular in the region. Tollah and his cousin Raïmi sat down to enjoy the steaming, spicy food. They chose to use their hands, for, some believe, the food tastes better when eaten with one’s fingers.

As soon as the gentlemen started to eat, a big, green fly—exactly the same color as the spinach—fell into the stew. One of the young men tried to get the fly out of the stew but, instead, pushed it in deeper by mistake. “That was a big fly, it must be an American fly,” Raïmi observed. (To most Africans, anything oversized is American.) Tollah offered the following compromise: “Let’s keep on eating as if nothing has happened. But let’s be careful so as not to eat the fly!” “We have a deal,” Raïmi replied, his mouth full of the succulent spicy stew.

So eat they did, occasionally watering down their food with a local beer, while Tollah told some stories about his stay in America.

In the end, the stew bowl was empty, with the fly to be found nowhere. “Where’s the fly?” Tollah asked, giggling, a white beer foam on his mustache. Raïmi laughed in turn, and offered the following compromise: “You assume that I ate the fly, and I assume that you did.” “Deal,” Tollah answered, closing the case.