After all these years, I still wash plates. I can't get it out of my system. I love the feel of sponge and soap in my hands, that sense of accomplishment after I have soaked the eba out of the pots and pans and scrubbed them clean for the next round of communal feeding (well, it seemed that way, all these relatives always visiting from the village with their portmanteau!). 

I once had a near-traumatic experience with my father's hand when I told my mom Izuma that "I nor go wash plate today!" For some reason, to this day, each time I see an eba-encrusted pot, I see and feel the heat of my father's hand. We have a dishwasher but I always wash the plates. I wash them clean and then I load them on to the dishwasher. And do the dishes 😉 That way I have satisfied the goddesses of plates, pots and pans on each side of the sea. 

And for those of you men in Nigeria asking why my steward Sunday is not washing the plates, I can only say "Na Oyedepo go occupy una yeye face with slap!"