The Curious Gentleman
On Plantain Chips, Pounded Yam, and Welcoming Someone Into My World
Photo by Connect Images on Getty Images
In early July, I received news that felt like the universe finally tilting in my favor. I had gotten off the waitlist for the apartment of my dreams. The one with the tall windows, the good light, the kind of space that makes you want to plant roots. The problem? I was in Boston, barely a week into an six-week internship, surrounded by boxes of moving chaos and a schedule that left no room for spontaneity. Good news, not-so-good news. The apartment required me to return to Austin to move my things and return to Boston in August. And that meant breaking my own word.
Earlier in the summer, I had told a couple of gentlemen that I would be unavailable to see anyone until end of August. I am a woman of my word, so when my plans changed, I let them know. One of them replied the next day, asking if I would be interested in a trip to Houston that weekend. Houston is one of my favorite cities in the US, not for the usual reasons, but for the accessibility of Nigerian food and culture. And the gentleman asking? One of the kindest, most curious souls I have ever met. It was an easy yes.
Besides, it gave me a good reason to catch up on my audiobook, Circe. For those who have not read it, Madeline Miller’s novel reimagines the life of the witch from Homer’s Odyssey, a woman who is exiled to a deserted island and learns to wield her power not through force, but through transformation and self-possession. It is a story about being underestimated and proving everyone wrong. I could not help but draw parallels to the world of companionship, where the ability to transform, to adapt, to be exactly what is needed in a given moment, is a kind of magic. But unlike Circe, I haven’t (yet) turned anyone into a pig, despite having been tempted on occasion.
Still, if Circe’s magic was about transformation, yours was about something quieter, yet no less powerful: paying attention. You had already proven yourself curious long before this trip. In the spring, you brought me a bag of plantain chips from a bodega in Manhattan, the same brand I had mentioned growing up on. The perfect ripeness, the exact ratio of chili to salt, a flavor that is nearly impossible to replicate. You remembered and acted on it. So when you asked if there was anything I wanted to do in Houston, I knew you meant it. You already had the usual planned: dinner, a spa date, a shopping trip to the Galleria. I figured we could fit in two more activities: dinner at one of my favorite spots and a night of dancing.
We made our way to the Famous Princess Kitchen. It was a hole in the wall, as all the best ethnic restaurants are. The kind of place where the food is authentic, the clientele knows exactly what to order, and the staff treats you like family if you show them respect. You asked what I would recommend for a newbie. I suggested a small side of Jollof rice, the mildest seasoning possible, and a side of pounded yam with Egusi soup. The pounded yam is a starchy dough made from boiled yams, kneaded into smooth, stretchy balls. The Egusi soup is made from melon seeds cooked in palm oil with various proteins, herbs, and spices. It had a bit of a kick. You seemed unfazed by the spice, though I could see you were breaking into a sweat. You finished the plate anyway.
I recommended you drink Zobo, a cold, deeply red drink made from hibiscus flowers, ginger, lemon, and cloves. It is refreshing, almost medicinal, and I watched the redness fade from your face as you sipped it. The staff brought complimentary Puff Puff, little fried dough balls that are served as breakfast, snack, or dessert. I explained that in Nigeria, it is up to the consumer to decide what the occasion calls for. The same dish, served for different reasons, depending on context. I found this to be true of many Nigerian dishes.
Once we were full, it was time to show you a proper Nigerian party. We headed to the Reveal Lounge in Houston, where we asked for a section. We arrived early enough to secure a prime spot for people-watching. You ordered a plate of Suya, a well seasoned grilled meat dish along with a well-aged Bordeaux wine. I noted how unusual the pairing was. However, you were trying something new and I needed to be open to you putting your twist on things. Together, we made up stories about the strangers around us. The couples visiting to spice up their relationship. The groups of friends popping bottles, signaling their availability like a peacock’s mating dance, though this time it was Dom Pérignon and Veuve Clicquot doing the heavy lifting.
I took the opportunity to explain that while this display might seem silly to an outsider, it carries cultural weight. In Yoruba and many other African tribes, a man is expected to provide for a woman. The ability to signal provision is one of the first markers of a worthy partner. No empty promises, no carrot dangling. Just proof of action. And when a couple plans to marry, the groom must pay a bride price set by the bride’s family. Many people outside the culture misconstrue this as purchasing the woman. In truth, it is a reflection of the partner’s seriousness, his ability to see her worth, and his ability to reassure her family that he can provide the same or better lifestyle she has always known. Because at home, no matter her age, her father is still her provider.
I explained that I carry the same traditional values into the world of companionship. I prioritize generosity and follow-through. A deposit is not a mere transaction. Instead, it is a marker of seriousness. It is proof that you are willing to show up, not just with words, but with action.You nodded in full understanding. And then you said, with a wry smile, “I guess that makes me your perfect Yoruba prince.”
I laughed. You are a white, middle-aged man with German roots, the opposite of what a typical Yoruba prince might look like. And yet, there is truth in what you said. You have proven yourself a respectful gentleman every time you reach out. You never haggle. You never make empty promises. You always include a spa date when we spend extended time together. You prioritize my comfort. And in turn, you get the best version of me. I am forever grateful for gentlemen like you.
As the night went on, the lights dimmed and the tempo shifted. Laser lights flashed across the dance floor as the DJ mixed Afrobeats. Several people moved to the center, and I pulled you in to join them. I showed you a few moves. The crowd cheered you on, and I loved watching you be welcomed into a space that is traditionally mine. It felt right. Because you are, in every way that matters, a new part of my world. You showed me that cultural curiosity is about presence not about performance. It is about showing up, asking questions, and letting yourself be transformed by the experience.
So, to you, reading this now, I offer the same invitation. Come curious. Come respectful. Come generous. Come ready to try something new, whether it is pounded yam or a dance floor or a conversation that stretches your understanding. I will meet you there. And I will remember you by the things that matter: your actions.