Excerpt from Butter Honey Pig Bread by Francesca Ekwuyasi, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Mami, good morning." Taiye smiled and kissed her mother's warm forehead.

"Good morning, my love." Kambirinachi beamed up at her daughter as she received her kiss.

"How did you sleep?" Taiye asked, removing the cakes from the oven. She placed them one by one on a tray and put them safely on top of the fridge, away from the cat.

"Dreamlessly," Kambirinachi responded. "And you, my love?"

"Fitfully."

"Oh, darling! What's bothering you?"

Taiye shrugged, and then she smiled. "I'm making a triple-layer cake." She made her eyebrows jump up and down. "Chocolate caramel."

"Yes!" Kambirinachi clapped and squealed. "Let the deliciousness commence!"

Taiye made them a breakfast of fried plantains and eggs scrambled with onions, tomatoes, and peppers. They ate on a blue striped aso oke on the carpeted floor of the parlour.

"What time does your sister's flight come in?" Kambirinachi asked, mid-chew.

"Twelve."

"Uh-oh, cutting it close, are we?"

"It's only after eight," Taiye said. "I'll finish making the cake and go."

"Will you drive?"

"No, I organized with the car hire guy yesterday. He'll pick me up."

"Okay." Kambirinachi smiled wide. "We'll finally get to meet your brother-in-law!"

"Yeah, it's about time."

"What are you thinking?"

"Nothing." Taiye shook her head. "I'm going to make jollof rice." She knew that her mother knew she was being less than honest.

The ceiling fan whirred loud, spinning sluggishly, as if protesting the low power with which it was fed, half-heartedly stirring the heavy air around them. Taiye thought she should ask the gateman to turn on the generator so they could use the a/c when Kehinde and Farouq arrived.


TAIYE FETCHED THE COOLED CAKES from the top of the refrigerator and placed them on the counter by the window looking out into the backyard. Taiye had painstakingly cleared the overgrown mess. She'd spent many many hours on her knees, under a fierce and boastful sun, tension pouring out of her pores in pools of sweat, as she pulled weeds from the hard, clayey soil. She'd wanted a garden, alive with tomatoes, basil, and spinach, but she needed better soil.

She built the frame of a Langstroth hive—a vertical beehive—with salvaged wood from discarded furniture and a manual she'd printed off the first website that showed up in her search. The idea of keeping bees, with gorgeous raw honey as a reward, filled her with a delicate kind of optimism, a tender, pearlescent sort of threshold to joy. She'd thrown herself into home beekeeping; it only took eight months and many fuck-ups, but she'd achieved a considerable healthy hive. The garden, however, remained mostly bare but for tufts of parched grass and purple heart vines that wandered out of their pots by the fence and encroached on her garden beds.

Taiye retrieved the chocolate caramel from the freezer and beat the thick mixture until beads of sweat formed along her hairline and rolled down, tickling the sides of her face. Until the caramel was just stiff enough to be spread without oozing down the sides of the cake. She iced the three layers with a large butter knife and assembled the dessert. Cake, caramel, a sprinkle of salt. Cake, caramel, a sprinkle of salt. Cake, caramel, a sprinkle of salt. She spread the rest of the caramel on the sides of the cake, and then she licked the bowl clean before leaving for the airport.

Excerpted from Butter Honey Pig Bread by Francesca Ekwuyasi. Copyright © 2020 by Francesca Ekwuyasi. Excerpted by permission of Arsenal Pulp Press, Limited. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.