“I didn’t look forward to the long trek in the sun to my grandfather’s farm which was at least a two mile walk. We typically started out early with the dew still fresh on the leaves. On reaching the farm we dropped off a few things in the farm hut and then off we went to work. Each person had an apportioned area to weed. The sun shining, relentless, an occasional breeze soothing. Someone would start a song, a work song. Another would take it up. The song would fade…work, work, work. Meanwhile Grandfather had disappeared. And then about midday the call from Grandpa. We made haste to the farm hut. Spread out before us was a feast of roasted yams, roasted plantains, vegetable sauce, boiled corn, pears, paw-paw, and clean, sweet water from the stream. Food had never tasted so good. I inspire myself to write by setting up a reward for myself. After the drudgery of writing, something to look forward to, some delight awaiting me at the end of my labors.”
—E. C. Osondu, author of Voice of America (Harper, 2010)