Dear Sister,
I know that feeling when you enter the market with ₦20,000 in your bag, and you come back with two nylon bags that cannot even make one proper week of food. Pepper has gone up again. Tomatoes have gone up again. The rice seller looks at you as if you should already know the new price.
I know 6pm, when everybody is hungry and someone asks, “Mummy, what are we eating?” And you open the fridge, look inside, and close it again. Because there is food in there, yes. But there is no plan.
I know the tomatoes that rotted at the bottom of the basket. The half pot of soup that turned sour when light went and did not come back for two days. The ugu you bought fresh on Saturday that was yellow by Tuesday. You are not careless, sister. You are tired, and nobody ever showed you a system.
I know the evenings you gave up and ordered food on the app. ₦6,500 for one plate, plus delivery. You ate it, but it did not sit well with your spirit, because you knew that money could have fed the house for two days.
And sister, if you live abroad, in Houston, London or Toronto, I know your version too. The supermarket where nothing feels cheap. The African store where one small bag of garri costs what a full paint bucket costs at home. The delivery app you open on a cold evening because you are too tired to think about dinner. Different country, same story.
And I know the quiet part, the part you don’t say out loud. When your husband asks, “Where did the foodstuff money go?” and you don’t have an answer. When you scroll past those healthy meal plans on Instagram, full of salmon and avocado, and you think, eating well is for people with money.
Sister, that is not true. And by the end of this page, you will see why.