What does home smell like when you’re far from it? Three Nigerian women share the scents that ground them, comfort them, and how they carry memory across borders.
For many African women, the fragrance of home is more than a nostalgic memory. It takes us home long before we arrive there. It’s a living presence that lingers on clothes, in kitchens, and in our memory. Whether it’s the smoky scent of our mothers’ cooking, the familiar notes of camphor in our grandmothers’ wardrobe, or our fathers’ rich, layered perfumes, scent has always been our quiet inheritance.
For me, that memory exists in the walls of my parents’ house, a distinct scent that shifts with the weather. Growing up, I didn’t realise how deeply it etched itself into my senses, even though boarding school and private university life kept me far from home. It wasn’t until I moved into my own space that I felt the ache. I didn’t miss a particular object or food; it was the scent. That’s when I began the quest to recreate it in my own home.
I started recreating my mother’s cooking not just for taste, but for smell. Her soup recipes are like rituals; mixing onions in my blended melon and frying it in palm oil just like she does. Cooking vegetable soup with her measurement of pepper mix and locust beans so that the house smells like my childhood again.
In building my home, I infuse my own and my husband’s identities in defining what our space should smell like. Candles, diffusers and fabric sprays have become part of my staple scents. I’m especially drawn to Nigerian brands like Rekoja, whose grounding blends of citrus, oud, and wood make up the staple fragrance in my home. They create a fragrant link between my past and my present because my mum loves citrus scents.
Research shows that scent is the strongest trigger of memory, even more so than sight or sound. According to neuroscientists, the olfactory bulb links directly to the brain’s emotional and memory centres, which explains why a simple whiff can make you feel like you’ve time-travelled. For African women in the diaspora, scent becomes a powerful form of cultural preservation.
In this feature, we explore the fragrance of home through the voices of African women around the world. Sometimes, home is a fragrance that finds you.
Read also: A journey through culinary traditions with Nigerian food tourist, Mitya
Bukola Ogunyemi’s fragrance of home — Smoky jollof and scented identity
For Bukola, a Medical Doctor and content creator in the United States of America, the fragrance of home is smoky Nigerian jollof rice. “I’m talking about the smoky Nigerian party jollof,” she says. “The blend of peppers, ginger, garlic, and onions sizzling together, then slowly absorbing into the rice. It’s a smell that fills up the house and makes your mouth water instantly.”
That scent alone brings her back to Nigerian weddings, birthdays, and Sundays after church — moments filled with music, laughter, a little chaos, and the joy of family. “It evokes feelings of joy, warmth and a strong sense of community,” Bukola shares. “Even just thinking about the mere smell of it brings back a lot of memories, which makes me miss home.”
The fragrance of home is something she actively recreates. Cooking jollof rice has become one of her grounding rituals, especially during major milestones or emotionally significant times. “From preparing the base to the moment that smoky aroma fills my apartment, it’s a sensory experience. It always makes wherever I am feel like home.”
There’s also a personal signature scent that brings comfort: Guerlain’s Santal Royal. Bukola discovered the fragrance at Guerlain’s first perfume event in Lagos in 2018, and it’s been a staple in her collection ever since. “It’s warm, deep, and rich, with notes of oud, sandalwood, and amber,” she says. “Being in a space where identity and fragrance were celebrated in a way that felt very personal and culturally rooted was everything.”
Now, every time she reaches for it, it connects her to her past and evolution. “I feel grounded, elegant, and connected to both where I’m from and who I’m becoming,” Bukola reflects. Through scent, both from the kitchen and her perfume, she’s found powerful, personal ways to carry home with her.
Mabe Ahiaba-Ajibade’s fragrance of home — Woodsmoke, shea butter, and memories
A communications & engagement coordinator living in Canada, the fragrance of home is equal parts smoke and sentiment for Mabe Ahiaba-Ajibade. “The first scent that comes to mind is the smoky warmth of jollof rice cooking over firewood,” she says. “That specific blend of woodsmoke, tomatoes, peppers, and thyme feels like a time capsule of my childhood.” It’s a scent embedded in tradition.
Mabe recalls Christmas mornings outdoors, the sound of cousins playing nearby, and her mother’s kitchen filled with the kind of love only food can hold. “It’s more than food,” she reflects. “It’s the scent of joy, celebration, and belonging.” The aroma lingers because it represents labour wrapped in love, laughter under sun, and pure moments. “There’s something deeply grounding about it, like a scent-shaped fingerprint of where I come from.”
Now living oceans away, Mabe continues to nurture that connection through scent rituals that feel cultural and personal. At the top of the list is shea butter. “Every time I open the jar, I feel this immediate connection to home,” she shares. “It reminds me of my mother rubbing it into my skin after a bath, of market days with rows of women selling it in calabashes, of the way it smells faintly nutty and alive.”
Mabe’s scent choices are simple but meaningful. A cinnamon or clove candle lit on a slow day, cooking with Maggi and crayfish, and the familiar slip of shea butter between her palms. These are her ways of returning home, even while building a life far away from it. “They are quiet acts of remembering, of carrying home with me,” she says.
Mabe’s fragrance of home is a grounding force that is soft, smoky, and ever-present.
Read also: Ready to travel? Brace yourself for culture shock in these countries
Cassie Daves’ fragrance of home — Sugar baby and soup
Cassie Daves, a Content and Marketing Strategist, says the fragrance of home doesn’t come from childhood kitchens or distant memories; it’s something newer, but no less meaningful. “It’s this diffuser oil called Sugar Baby from a Nigerian brand, Claire Marcus,” she says. “That’s the scent that comes to mind first because it became my constant during a really defining season of my life.”
Cassie had just got married, packed up her life in Lagos, and moved to Ibadan to start afresh with her husband. “It was such a shift. New city, new rhythm, new beginnings, and that scent was the one familiar thing I brought with me,” she explains. That soft, sweet oil perfumed the walls of their first home, infusing the early days of married life with a sense of calm and continuity. “Now, whenever I think of ‘home,’ I’m instantly transported to that time. That scent still holds comfort, transition, and the sweetness of something new for me.”
Now that she lives in Canada, the fragrance of home has evolved for Cassie. “You know that palm-oil-drenched aroma that fills the whole house when a proper pot of egusi or ogbono is on the fire?” That unmistakable scent now brings her back to her roots. “It’s loud and warm and grounding in a way that feels like a hug from your roots.”
Though she still keeps her Sugar Baby diffuser close, Cassie admits she doesn’t use it as much these days. “Maybe because I’m still figuring out what ‘home’ feels like here,” she reflects. Instead, her grounding ritual is one she carried from Ibadan; a mix of mood, memory, and comfort food. “I pull my mattress out to the living room floor, light a few candles, make onion-flavoured Indomie, and watch K-dramas,” she says. “That was my go-to comfort ritual, and recreating that same vibe in a new place helps me feel like I’m carrying a piece of my old home with me.”
For Cassie, one era or location does not define the fragrance of home. It’s a mix of new beginnings and familiar roots, always personal and close.
Home is a scent you carry
These stories remind us that the fragrance of home isn’t just about the place itself but about the way scent helps us hold on to the people, traditions, and memories we never want to lose. Fragrance becomes a bridge between past and present, a quiet form of cultural preservation that transcends borders and time zones.
As we navigate growth, migration, marriage, and motherhood, these scents become rituals of joy. They remind us who we are, where we’ve come from, and what we’re building. They make space for softness and grounding in unfamiliar places.
Sometimes, home isn’t just a location. It’s the way your kitchen smells when you cook your mother’s recipe or a fragrance that lives in your suitcase. Wherever you are, that fragrance will always find you.
