Popular Nigerian influencer and fashion entrepreneur, Priscilla Ojo, has revealed one major cultural adjustment she is grappling with during her stay in Tanzania—food. The daughter of Nollywood actress Iyabo Ojo, Priscilla is currently in the East African country for work and leisure, but it seems her palate is still deeply rooted in Nigeria’s fiery and flavorful cuisine. According to her, if there’s one thing she already misses terribly about home, it’s the food. In her words, “They don’t eat pepper and spices in Tanzania.”

The confession came during a light-hearted moment shared with fans via social media, where Priscilla opened up about her ongoing struggle to find meals that suit her taste. Her statement immediately resonated with many Nigerians who are known for their love of heavily spiced meals, often enriched with chili peppers, crayfish, onions, and a medley of aromatic ingredients that form the soul of West African cooking. In contrast, Tanzanian cuisine, while diverse and rooted in coastal and Swahili traditions, typically leans toward milder flavors with less emphasis on intense heat.

Priscilla’s remark may seem casual, but it highlights the often overlooked yet profound connection between food and cultural identity. For many Nigerians, food is more than just sustenance—it is a deeply emotional and social experience. The idea of a day without spicy stew, pepper soup, or jollof rice seasoned to perfection can be unthinkable. And for someone like Priscilla, who grew up immersed in this culinary heritage, adapting to a less spicy diet can feel like being far removed from home.

Her experience also opens up a broader conversation about the sensory surprises and minor cultural shocks that come with traveling across Africa. While the continent is rich in cultural similarities, there are equally striking differences, especially when it comes to food. Nigerian cuisine is bold and unapologetically spicy. Whether it’s egusi soup, suya, nkwobi, or ogbono, pepper is often a main character. In Tanzania, however, the food palette is subtler. Local dishes like pilau, ugali, and wali wa nazi (coconut rice) are delicious, but for a spice lover, they might fall flat without the fiery kick of scotch bonnet or dried Cameroon pepper.

It’s no surprise, then, that Priscilla finds herself longing for Nigerian food even while enjoying the beautiful sights and serene environment that Tanzania has to offer. Her statement, “They don’t eat pepper and spices,” may come off as humorous, but it underscores the strong ties that food has to one’s identity. It also reveals the silent struggle many African travelers face when moving within the continent, assuming that familiarity will follow them wherever they go, only to be greeted with differences in the most unexpected ways.

Her honest reaction drew mixed responses online. While many Nigerians in the diaspora echoed her sentiments, sharing their own stories of food withdrawal when traveling abroad, some Tanzanians and East Africans saw it as a learning opportunity—an invitation to explore and appreciate the taste preferences of their West African neighbors. Others defended their own cuisine, emphasizing that while their meals may not be as peppery, they are still rich in flavor and tradition.

Yet, Priscilla’s comment was far from a criticism. In fact, it reflected a genuine love and appreciation for her own roots. It was less about what Tanzanian food lacks and more about what Nigerian food means to her. The longing in her words was evident, a small piece of home that she cannot quite replicate in a foreign land. It’s a sentiment that is widely relatable, especially among those who live or travel abroad. No matter how adventurous or adaptable one may be, there’s always a craving for the familiar taste of home.

What’s also interesting is how food has become a subtle ambassador for national pride. Just as Nigerians defend their jollof rice in culinary showdowns with Ghana, so too do they fiercely hold onto their love for peppered dishes. Food wars, food pride, and food nostalgia all stem from this deep-rooted connection between what we eat and who we are. So when Priscilla says she’ll miss Nigerian food, she’s not just talking about meals—she’s talking about memory, comfort, and identity.

Her social media update may be brief, but it has sparked a broader awareness of the subtle differences that make each African country unique. It reminds travelers and influencers alike to explore with an open mind, but also shows that it’s okay to miss the flavors of home. It’s okay to carry your taste buds with you, to search for local ingredients that might help you recreate that one stew or soup that brings back a thousand memories.

In a time where cultural exchange is increasingly becoming a part of the African experience—thanks to travel, music, fashion, and business—comments like Priscilla’s add a personal, relatable touch to that dialogue. It’s not just about what we gain from exploring new places, but also what we momentarily lose or leave behind. And for Priscilla Ojo, it’s the sting of pepper, the warmth of spices, and the unforgettable aroma of Nigerian food that she misses most.

As her journey in Tanzania continues, fans are already jokingly offering her care packages filled with dried pepper, seasoning cubes, and even homemade stew. Whether she takes them up on those offers or not, one thing is certain—Nigerian food is in her heart and on her mind. And for many others in the diaspora, her simple statement is a heartfelt reminder that no matter how far you go, the taste of home is irreplaceable.