My journey with pounded yam began early in life, a familiar tale for those from Ekiti and Ondo states in Nigeria. Indigenes of these states and perhaps the Ijeshas in Osun state are known for their close relationship with yam, especially pounded yam, which is a staple in many homes. Growing up with my grandmother, Yeye, in Ijare, I experienced this firsthand. In those days, farming was still common, and yams were abundant. However, not all yams were suitable for pounding. For instance, esuru (bitter yam), though known for its health benefits, was never used for pounded yam, giving rise to the Yoruba saying: “Esuru saseju, o te lowo oniyan” (pride led to the rejection of bitter yam by pounded yam lovers).
Under Yeye’s guidance, I developed a deep connection to the art of pounding yam. Yeye made sure I understood not just the process but also the variety of yams best suited for pounding—white yam being the most popular. During the dry season, we would occasionally mix it with water yam to maintain a soft texture. Sometimes, we would pound cocoyam by itself as it was cheaper (funny cocoyam is more expensivein the West now because of its health benefits). My maternal grandfather, a polygamist, had built a strip of multiple kitchens for his wives and other family members, fostering communal living. This setup created a vibrant, interactive environment where we would often discuss and negotiate who was cooking what and when meals would be ready. The sense of togetherness in this communal space fueled my passion for learning and deepened my appreciation for the culinary art.
My role as a “pounded yam consultant” extended beyond Yeye’s kitchen. After honing my skills, I became one of the go-to persons in the neighborhood, often hired by widows, single parents, and even married couples who needed help pounding yam. This exposure not only made me an expert but also gave me insight into the varying economic conditions of each family. Some had to stretch their food by mixing yams with corn, cocoyam, or water yam, while others couldn’t always afford meat or fish. I had a personal preference for pure yam pounded yam over the mixed versions, which made me selective about whom I chose to help, especially when there was a conflict in cooking timing. In such cases, I would prioritize assisting those I knew made the best soup or those who were generous with meat or fish. In exchange for my services, I was often rewarded with portions of the food, further solidifying my reputation as an expert in identifying the best cooks within our extended family.
But becoming an expert didn’t happen overnight. Yeye’s leadership played a pivotal role in shaping me. The first time she introduced me to pounding yam, I was around six years old, and, as expected, I was terrible at it. Each time I pounded, I would eagerly ask her to check the smoothness, hoping for approval. Yeye would touch the yam in the mortar and smile, always responding with the same phrase: “Ise lii reni” (it is smooth). But when it was time to eat, I would discover the lumps. I confronted Yeye about it, wondering why she said it was smooth when clearly it wasn’t. Her response stayed with me: “Focus on your accomplishment. You pounded yam for the first time, and that’s what matters. With time, you will get better.”
Her patience and encouragement were invaluable. Instead of criticizing my mistakes, Yeye gently showed me the right techniques. She would take the pestle and demonstrate how to pound effectively, guiding me step by step. Not once did she show frustration. Her leadership style was rooted in nurturing, teaching, and patiently allowing me to grow through my own experiences. Her calmness in guiding me allowed me to embrace my mistakes and learn from them.
In addition to Yeye, my cousins, especially the older ones, were key figures in my growth. We often competed with one another on who could pound the smoothest yam. This healthy competition pushed me to improve and refine my technique. Watching them, learning from their experiences, and striving to match their skills kept me motivated. The presence of my cousins wasn’t just about competition; it was about having role models who guided me and challenged me to be better.
Though I haven’t pounded yam since the 1980s, the lessons I learned from Yeye and my cousins remain with me. Yeye’s leadership, characterized by patience, guidance, and encouragement, taught me the importance of nurturing others and allowing them room to grow. My cousins showed me the value of healthy competition and how it can inspire excellence. These experiences were more than just about food—they were about life, leadership, and the significance of having a supportive community.
NB: Johnson Babalola, a Canada based lawyer, leadership consultant and corporate emcee, is a public affairs analyst.
