Let me take you back to a time when I was young and gullible — when I thought the cure for everything was either a cold bath or a herbal drink that tasted like boiled tree bark. I was around 12 years old, and it was flu season. The weather in Accra had just done its usual trick: one minute it was scorching hot, and the next minute, it was raining like the sky was crying for no reason. It’s the kind of weather that can leave you feeling like you’ve just run a marathon, and your body reacts by coughing, sneezing, and giving you a fever that makes you feel like you’re roasting from the inside.
This particular flu had hit me like a ton of bricks. I was lying on the couch, wrapped in a blanket that smelled like mothballs, and feeling sorry for myself. My head was pounding, and my throat was scratchy. I could hardly breathe through my nose, and the only thing I wanted was a bucket of KFC and some relief.
But, instead of a bucket of chicken, I got my grandma.
Now, my grandma, God bless her, was a woman who could make anything sound like it would cure a disease. She was the kind of person who thought "old school remedies" were still the best medicine. Forget about modern science; for her, everything could be healed with the right mixture of herbs, spices, and a good old-fashioned prayer. And on that fateful day, she had a remedy that would live in infamy for the rest of my life.
“Chale, come here,” she called from the kitchen in her usual no-nonsense tone.
I barely had the energy to move, but since I had no choice, I dragged myself off the couch and into the kitchen where she was stirring something that looked suspiciously like it could double as a chemical weapon.
“Grandma, I don’t feel so good,” I muttered, collapsing into a chair at the kitchen table.
She didn’t even look up. “You think I don’t know? I’ve been hearing you sneeze and cough like a goat since morning.”
I tried to cough as quietly as possible, hoping she wouldn't hear me, but of course, she did.
“What’s this I hear about you catching a flu? In this weather? You need a good, proper cure.”
And then it came.
Her eyes lit up, and her wrinkled face broke into a smile as if she had just discovered a hidden treasure. “I have just the thing!”
Before I could say anything, she grabbed a small container from the shelf. My eyes widened as she began to open it.
It was a jar of pepper.
Not just any pepper — this was the kind of pepper that would make you sweat even if you weren’t sick. This was the type of pepper you find in the back of your pantry, the kind that’s been there so long you start to wonder if it’s a relic from the last century. But there it was, ready to change my life.
“Grandma… what is that for?” I asked, my voice laced with concern. It didn’t look like anything I wanted near my body, especially when I was already feeling miserable.
She didn’t even look at me. “It’s for your flu, my child. Nothing works better than hot pepper. It’ll clear everything out of you — your nose, your chest, your spirit, everything.”
I stared at her in disbelief. “Wait… wait. You want me to eat that?”
She turned to me with the kind of confidence that only grandmothers have when they’re about to teach you a lesson. “No, no. You’re going to drink it.”
Drink it. Drink it?
I stared at the jar of pepper and then at my grandma, who was busy pouring something that looked like a toxic potion into a cup. There was no way out. I was too weak to argue, and the look on her face told me that she wasn’t going to let me go without at least trying it.
“Here you go,” she said, handing me the cup. “Drink it down. It’s the cure for everything.”
I took one sniff, and my eyes immediately watered. The smell was enough to make me think twice. But the flu wasn’t going to cure itself, so I reluctantly brought the cup to my lips.
“Grandma, are you sure about this?” I asked, my voice shaking. “I think I’d rather just sleep it off or go to the clinic.”
She gave me a look, the kind that said, “If you question me one more time, I’ll make you sleep outside tonight.” “Drink it, and stop asking questions.”
With no other option in sight, I chugged the liquid down in one go. It was a mistake. A big one. The moment it hit my throat, I felt like my insides were being set on fire. My eyes popped open as if someone had just thrown hot coals down my throat. I tried to scream, but nothing came out. It was as if my voice box had been fried.
I stood up, flailing around like a chicken that had just discovered fire. “Grandma! This… this is… this is terrible!”
She was sitting there, calm as ever, watching me go through the entire range of human emotions. I went from shock, to pain, to pure panic. “It’s good for you! It’s a little strong, but it will clear everything out. Trust me, I’ve been drinking this since I was a child.”
I stared at her in disbelief. “Grandma, what in the world did you just make me drink?!”
She shrugged. “Pepper. It’s good for your chest, your throat, and your soul. It will drive that flu out of you like a bat out of hell.”
My nose started to run like a leaky faucet. The heat in my mouth was unbearable. I could feel my insides doing somersaults, and I knew I was about to die — but at least I was going to die healthy, right?
I staggered to the living room and collapsed onto the couch, trying to cool down. But Grandma was already back in the kitchen, as if nothing had happened. I lay there for what felt like an eternity, fighting the urge to throw up and wondering if I’d ever taste anything again that wasn’t burning my tongue.
About five minutes later, I felt a strange thing happen. The burning in my throat started to ease up. I could feel the congestion in my chest begin to loosen. It was working. It was actually working. The flu was leaving me, and I had Grandma’s miracle pepper to thank for it.
“Grandma… it worked!” I said, almost in awe. “I can breathe again! I think I might actually survive this!”
She smiled at me with the smugness of someone who knew they had just performed a magic trick. “Told you. Pepper is the cure for everything. Now, go get some rest. You’ll be fine.”
As I lay there recovering, I couldn’t help but laugh. My grandma had just saved my life with a drink that felt like it could’ve been used to strip paint. But, hey, I was breathing again, and that’s all that mattered.
The next day, I woke up feeling like a new person. I still had the faint taste of pepper on my tongue, but I was no longer coughing or sneezing. In fact, I felt like I could run a marathon. Thanks to Grandma, I was officially flu-free — and somehow, she had also managed to remind me of just how powerful old-school remedies can be.
“Next time I get sick, Grandma,” I said, “I’m just going to ask for KFC and some pepper tea.”
She grinned. “You’ll learn. Pepper’s the way to go.”
I couldn’t argue with her anymore. Grandma had won. She always does.
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