Daz is the winner of Vol 3 – 41. Follow him on Twitter. He was born in a small village in Scotland, but he now lives with his wife and two children in London. For a living he works with numbers, but in his spare time he prefers the company of words. He thinks science and poetry are best equipped to get to the truth of things.
Taking a boiled cassava root, she said out loud “fruit of the Earth”, before placing it in the the woduro.
Reaching for a plantain, “…and fruit of the sky”, then placing it in the woduro too.
Setting to work with the woma, pounding the mixture in silence, her jaw set in concentration.
The sun was high. Sweat began to run freely off her brow.
But her focus remained undiminished, raising and dropping the woma, up and down, up and down, until, gradually, it coalesced, and from the mixing of sky and earth, a fine, almost elastic dough began to form.
With tender care, continuing to work the dough, until, at last the fufu was finished.
Flexing the cramp from her arms, she looked at her daughter.
“The Sun has barely risen on your marriage, my child. Do you understand?”
Her daughter nodded.
“Good,” then smiling, “Do you think it was any different for your father and I? They are both good men. Now go and be reconciled.”