Dinner at Mabovi

Last night, next to your mother, across from me and your grandmother, you ate joloff rice and cabbage and pinched the red snapper from my plate, telling me to avoid the bones, asking me if the fish was scary, holding it in your fingers and complaining that it was too hot.  You have built a reputation with Ms. B at Mabovi; she did not disappoint, bringing you fruit as a personal dessert, topped with sliced lemon cake and blueberry cake, and you two traded hugs and cheek kisses I imagined you in Ghana, her homeland, and wondered if you would enjoy it as much as you had another meal in one of our favorites.

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