At home I asked what Papa did. But Papa simply dropped his lunch bag on the floor and aired his work overalls.
Then Mama said, “Papa needs his supper.”
So I waited.
Mama brought him garri and okro soup. The steam rose high to the ceiling. I caught some with my bare hands, but it melted away. I tried again.
And again. And then I gave up.
Papa was gobbling balls of garri.
When Papa finished, he hooked my head in his elbow and ruffled my hair. “What are you up to, son?”
“P-papa,” I stuttered.
“Yes, my child.”
He let go.