By Francis Ewherido

Sometime ago, I went on a business visit to a client and friend. Inevitably the discussions veered from business to life. We talked about the ephemeral nature of life and vanity. As if preempting me, he told me that when he goes to bed, he sleeps like a baby.

That is to say his fleet of vehicles, houses and assets mean nothing to him. We both agreed that what matters most in the mundane is what you eat and drink.

These are the only things that go with you to the grave; you leave behind your money, houses, cars, other personal belongings and assets to be scrambled for and partitioned. But I reminded him that “even the food we are talking about is endangered. How much do adults eat these days?” We both realised that only about five per cent of our expenditure on food and other household consumables go to us and our spouses. The children take the chunk.

A few years ago, a friend called after leaving his doctor. He started lamenting over the phone: “Francis, what kind of life is this? In the past when I wanted to eat everything I fancied, I didn’t have the money to buy them; now that I can afford them, my doctor says don’t eat this, don’t eat that.” That conversation has had some impact on how I am bringing up my children. I steer them away from junk food.

Beyond that, I allow them eat whatever they want, provided it is within budget. I pray our children do not encounter the myriad of health challenges many of us are facing, but I do not want them to look back many years from now, for any reason and like my friend, and have any regrets.

I look at my generation and I wonder what is happening. Many young people in their 30s, 40s and early 50s are dropping dead as a result of stroke, high blood pressure, cardiac arrest, diabetes, cancer and other health conditions.

As I was writing this column, the news of the death of a friend’s promising younger brother, Festus Omonemu, hit me. He died in his 30s leaving behind a wife and two children. A few weeks earlier, it was the wife of a relative, Charles Ziregbe. She left behind a toddler. May their souls rest in peace. Many of us moving around are struggling with one health challenge or the other. Some have become mobile pharmacies, gulping tons of drugs everyday just to stay alive. Painfully, we are not even eating what we want mainly for health reasons.

Many people in their late 30s and above now eat mainly to survive; the enjoyment part has taken a back seat in a distant row. I went to visit a very rich man long ago. Then I had not started taking this much precaution on what I eat. When he invited me to join him at his expansive and expensive dining, I refused; the food was too diminished and impoverished and I just wondered silently, “what kind of suffering is this in the midst of plenty”. I could also not help but notice the irony between the surrounding opulence and the food he was eating. But that was what his health allowed.

I know life is a leveler: rich, poor, famous, obscure, sane, insane, saint, sinner, we all came into the world through the union of our parents and we shall all end up in the belly of mother earth, cremated or buried; buried in a multi-million naira casket or in a simple white cloth like Muslims do. Is health-induced eating another way life has closed the gulf between the rich and poor?

I have resolved to eat and live healthy. Fruits of all kind (they say you cannot go wrong with fruits, how true?) have become regular meals, still not my will though. I now consume more vegetable than goats do, also not my will. Red meat is an endangered species in my menu, I do not know what ice cream taste like any more, I view cake with suspicion, butter/margarine is now distant memory.

Unripe plantain has replaced ripe plantain, but I still eat fried plantain (dodo) and other fried food once a while with guilt, same with cow leg, shaki and many other delicacies I used to feast on. Even beloved chicken is now eaten without the skin, unfortunately one of the tastiest parts. They say chicken skin is cholesterol-laden. Once in a while I rebel and indulge. I need the break; I do not want to be driven to the point of depression or suicide. These strict regimens have the capacity to do just that. Moderation is my guide.

But there seems to be no respite as we grow older. Many years ago, people who consume raw garlic used to irritate me with their breathe. Consequently, when my doctor insisted I had to start taking garlic, I opted for processed ones in tablet form. I have since switched to raw garlic and joined the band of people with irritating garlic-infested breathe.

Do I have any apologies? I begi, man has to survive. In Urhoboland, every adult is expected to have an alias (Od’ova). My grandmother’s was Osevwe r’emare (old people’s fashion). If you call her osevwe r’emare, she will respond: “obijiwoni, wo kw’epharo ku fia.” (If you find it unattractive, look the other way).

So if you find our garlic-infested breathe irritating, just turn the other way. As good neighbours, though, we are struggling to reduce or kill the odour with mouth spray, chewing gums, sweets and other remedies, but raw garlic smell strong, sha.

This life! No wonder, King Solomon spent his old age writing about life, among which is the great Book of Ecclesiastes. Excerpts: “Now all has been heard; here is the conclusion of the matter: Fear God and keep his commandments, for these are all that man was created for.”(Ecclesiastes 12:13)