Today is the last day for early bird (read discounted tickets) for the 3rd annual Igbo Conference taking place at SOAS, University of London, 2-3 May 2014.
I feel like an idiot because I was supposed to let you guys know since Thursday but I went on a mini-break and there was no service where I was so, I am telling you now. BUY YOUR TICKETS TODAY. DO NOT DELAY. (Yes, I rhyme too.)
Why? Well, the Igbo Conference is a great place to exchange ideas, stories, tips and even learn the language and culture. This year’s theme is on ‘Heritage’ and I am quite excited about the list of activities. But don’t take my word for it. Have a look.
For the eagle-eyed amongst you, well spotted. I am part of the panel on the 3rd of May. I will probably be wearing my villain shoes so if in doubt, look for that. I might even bring the Tot. It’ll be great to see you guys there.
A friend asked me ‘What’s the difference between Ngwo-Ngwo and Nkwobi?’ and I didn’t know what to tell her having never tasted Nkwobi before.
When I moved to London a few years ago it was all ‘Nkwobi-this’ and ‘Nkwobi-that’ and I approached it in the same way I do all faddy things – which is not at all. I have never tasted Nkwobi.
It didn’t help that men were just going mad over it like it was the new onugbu soup. You’d have barely said hello on a date before the guy would ask with ill-disguised desperation:
“You can make Nkwobi right?” Trying to contain the drool pouring out of his mouth. And failing.
Needless to say, when I lived in Enfield, women – and they were always women- who could make Nkwobi were almost always elevated to superstar status. And even then I did not taste it. Even though it looked the same as Ngwo-ngwo. I could not understand the frenzy. Na jazz?
You can imagine how flabbergasted I was to realise that my suspicions were correct. The two are more or less the same. Hiss.
Nkwobi.
For those who do not know, this is a spicy dish made from goat or cow foot and/or tail, palm oil and in some cases goat brain. Mmmmmmmm….nice creamy brain. My mother never used the brain though and she would often scoop it out when she was making Isi Ewu – another delicacy involving a goat’s head.
*Just FYI, few things in life are as satisfying as scooping out a goat's mushy brain through a gash in the temple after it has been roasted. It looks like a cross between porridge and cottage cheese but it smells so divine! *Another FYI, maybe TMI. Goat's teeth are nasty if the cook is careless enough to get them in the dish. (Not my mother though.)
This is something my mother would knock out from boredom which is probably why I am so blasé about it. I guess she was a superstar too. My father’s friends would eat it and drink palm-wine, laughing into the night while we forced our child-eyes to stay open so as not to miss any gossip.
Some people would say Ngwo-Ngwo differs from Nkwobi in that the former can and does contain other parts of meat/offal as well as the aforementioned limbs and I suppose that could be correct. But I think this is splitting hairs a bit because ultimately they are both based around the same bits of animal and the technique is the same.
Anyway, I just finished a serious discussion on the subject (yes, this is a serious matter. Take note if you are married to or friends with an Igbo person because this is the stuff wars are made of!) and got sent a video.
Can I just be the first to say that this girl’s accent is making me all warm and fuzzy? I just want to marry her. Is she not the friendliest person you have ever not-met?
A few years ago – maybe two years ago – I discovered a BRILLIANT tongue-in-cheek blog called ‘The Problem with Young People’ written by ‘Don’, who may or may not be a crabby old persona.
Needless to say, it’s given me an idea for a series (‘Another one?’ you ask. ‘Does she even bother finishing her serialisations?’) Yeah, yeah.
Without further ado, I give you my new series…
THE PROBLEM WITH IGBO PEOPLE.
Because we all know that Igbo people vex me. I love us, but my God do we vex me sometimes!
First post coming up after this message from our sponsor:
How to love Igbo things (or what you will). 