‘Má kán’jú tu Olú Ọrán, torí igba ẹ̀ kò tó sè l’ọ́bẹ̀.’ Saying this proverb was my mother’s way of checking my ever-eager self and occasional impetuous actions as a young child. I roughly translated it as: ‘Do not uproot Olú Ọrán in haste because two hundred of it is not sufficient in a pot of soup.’ And while I understood it as a proverb aimed at discouraging rashness, I didn’t know what Olú Ọrán was, so my efforts in dissecting its literal meaning were abortive until recently when I discovered that it is one of the many kinds of mushrooms that Yoruba people love and make soups with. This revelation came from an Instagram post of Yoruba language enthusiast and historian, Tayo Bello, shedding light on the kinds of soups and dishes that exist in the Yoruba repertoire.

Mushrooms—existing in different sizes, tastes, textures, and species, called olú in Yoruba, are popular ingredients in the meals, medicine, and mythology of the Yoruba people as asserted by Nigerian botanist, B.A. Oso, in his 1975 paper, ‘Mushrooms and the Yoruba People of Nigeria’. Olú Orán (termite mushroom) is particularly desired for its sweetness and its tiny size and frailty is why caution is advised when plucking it. The proverb that features this mushroom highlights the Yoruba reverence for patience as the best character (sùúrù, baba ìwà). According to Yoruba mythology, Olú Orán is named after a woman called Orán who is believed to be the source of the mushroom due to her disobedience. She had refused to follow the rites prescribed by Ọ̀rúnmìlà, the Yoruba god of wisdom and the grand priest of Ifa, to solve her problem of childlessness and so began to have these mushrooms as offspring instead of children as a consequence. This indicates that there are lots of cultural elements and significance tied to food in culture. To lose these foods, along with the ways, would mean losing lores, linguistic elements, tradition, history, and even cultural identity.

Bello’s post (which was in collaboration with food critic, Opeyemi Famakin) was triggered by a common statement that Yoruba cuisine isn’t rich in soups, which I grew up hearing even among fellow Yoruba people (in Lagos and Ibadan). I also once believed this since the Yoruba soups we ate in my house were a routine of Ewedu (abula, sometimes), Okro, Egusi, and Efo Riro–vegetable soups mainly Ṣọkọ, Tẹ̀tẹ̀, and Arówójẹjà (also known as efo green). While the post exists as a model answer to counter such claims, it reveals that our indigenous Nigerian cuisine, along with our culinary traditions might be eroding because we’re no longer cooking our foods as much. When more people are encouraged to cook their local foods and they have no prior knowledge of how they’re prepared, so they have to rely on food content creators who are making variants or altered versions while presenting it as the ultimate or not referencing the original, does it not open the foods to the risk of erasure, thereby leaving its source cultures charred?

One core part of food globalization, which the Nigerian content creator also contributes to, is that certain foods and food cultures that are (or used to be) identified with specific places are finding their ways to other parts of the world to settle making it possible for people to explore new tastes and culinary traditions. Nigeria is not exempted from this. The popularity of shawarma as a street food in the country and its modifications to adapt to the Nigerian palate is an example. As Yemisi Aribisala stated in her book, Longthroat Memoirs: Soups, Sex, and Nigerian Taste Buds, being Nigerian is acquiring and owning something, changing its face and giving it an entirely new personality that it might look the same but it never is. This also holds true for delicacies within the country as they travel around from their source locations to the creator’s kitchen and then to people’s homes. How then can the original remain untouched and untainted to preserve the culture it’s coming from and for ones who might wish to maintain it? Ozoz Sokoh recommends the documentation of these dishes in their original states. She said:

Documentation, materials that can be referenced, remembered and recalled, is a key part of preserving the legacy of recipes. Things are going to change through time, but if we document generation by generation, we will be able to map those changes in the foodways, in trade, in ingredients, in methods and techniques and more. For instance, I can say, through referenced works, what Jollof rice in 1910 was versus what it is today.

For Sokoh, documentations could be recipes catalogued in cookbooks, museums, exhibition spaces, oral accounts and even repositories. While social media can be considered a repository in which the documentation of this current stage of food (culture) evolution in Nigeria is taking place, the importance of food historians can’t be overstated. She explained:

These (Nigerian food historians) are the people who can remind us collectively of our origin stories. Their works remind us what the original recipes are so we can go in and create these new contemporary versions, while establishing the historical accounts of what, at least for our generation, exists out of the traditional and classic meals. The reason people fight for their cultures valiantly is because it’s essential and one of the ways that we protect it is by preserving it. This proves that it existed in a particular form or format even if it’s subjected to change. Then, we can mark the changes, understand the changes, that moment that brought about the changes.

To achieve all these recommendations through documentation, it’s important that we individually and collectively show interest in preserving our food culture and ways. It’s important that people seek out history, ask questions, and open their minds to receiving answers, just as it is for the government to show interest as culture is never upheld by one person or a set of people. She said:

The Ministry of Information and Culture could spearhead some kind of repository or proper form of documentation. It’s a multilayered approach that involves all from farmers to traders, people in film, audio, photography, communications etc. It also involves research and in all, baselines that are minimum standards, such as fundamentally respecting people in a culture, using language that isn’t inciting, and being clear about distinguishing opinions from facts.

Protecting our foods and by extension, cultures, from being eroded can’t be achieved by bullying content creators who prepare them in other ways than they’re being originally made. It is better to accept that once a delicacy leaves its source culture, it becomes subject to change at its landing site, and focus on properly documenting food and foodways in their original forms. This, however, doesn’t excuse content creators from telling food stories and sharing local food recipes with respect. Weighing on the negative comments her local recipe content attracts, Tayo-Osikoya recently started a series, ‘Market Series with Chef T’ in which market women share the original recipes of their local dishes with her. While demanding respect such as this from content creators, each Nigerian should also learn to extend the same courtesy when they come in contact with foods from other parts of the country or world⎈