Musings on goat meat, alias ogunfe, – By Bamidele Johnson

The hype around ogufe alias ogunfe is something that passeth my understanding.

Ogufe, goat meat in English, I strongly believe, is a reason proper amala joints have another shrewish staff member apart from the amala server.

The most grumpy, of course, is the amala dispenser, who’s usually a natural born shithead and whose patience is easily frayed by “give me three amala; add one. No. Add two more”.

She’d snap like a croc. Next to her is the soup server, whose mind is scrambled on a per second basis by ogufe aficionados.

They’re so many and they irritate me. They’re never satisfied. They start with an almost lecherous stare at the soup pot and over the shoulder of the customer in front. When it is their turn, they begin to point, inna Sanwo-Olu former stylee, at this and that piece of ogufe.

“E fiyen si. Iyen to lawo yen. Agemawo ni mo like,” he’d say. Put that one that has hide. The woman moves to comply. “Rara o. Mi o fe yen. Egungun ti poju.” He’s rejecting what he’s chosen because it’s got too much bone. He starts pointing again.

The woman starts trawling through the giant stew pot. She finally finds one that satifies the plonker. He goes again to start asking for the scrotal sac, hoof and what not and the woman flares up, telling him very brusquely that there are other customers needing attention.

I admit that my mind isn’t a particularly good one because when I see the ogufe-obsessed going through this routine, his head, to me, begins to assume the shape of goat head AKA Isi ewu.

He requests for beef, liver and tripe (shaki), but never points. It is that ogufe that is mind-bending. I will never know why.

I’d rather eat without meat than do ogufe, which has a smell that endures longer than that of liniment. Now, I don’t have issues with people liking ogufe, but the near-worship of it drives me up the wall.

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