As a child every season had its distinctive
scent, taste and sound. On dark wintr's nights,
pressing my nose to glass tasting of snow, I
remember watching the boza seller trudging along
the street. The shadowy figure with his high-pitched
cry of 'Bozaaa!' fascinated but also slightly
scared me. New street cries announced the coming
of summer, this time with tomatoes, aubergines
and peppers. But I would ignore these, eagerly
waiting for the ice cream seller to come by.
And even he could not beat the excitement created
by the maize seller, pushing his cart with its
great cauldrons of boiling water along the street.
My mother would come down to the street with
me, and I would be handed a scalding hot corn
on the cob, generously salted and wrapped in
green maize leaves. Then of course there was
also grilled corn and popcorn. Popcorn was sold
outside cinemas and I always pestered for some
as we entered.