When Funke Egberongbe received a letter from Irish immigration authorities years ago, it felt like the final blow. It wasn’t just the threat of deportation, it was the fear that everything she had hoped, prayed, and endured for would be erased in a single decision. But she didn’t fold. She held on.
Nearly two decades later, that same woman, now a mother of four and a proud entrepreneur has her Afro-Caribbean Jollof Sauce on shelves in selected SuperValu stores and ethnic shops across Ireland. It is a long way from the narrow room she once occupied in Direct Provision housing, waiting for a future that often seemed permanently delayed.
Funke Egberongbe arrived in Ireland from Nigeria in 2005. She was 27 and pregnant with her second child. Alone and determined, she made the journey seeking safety and opportunity. What followed was a decade in Ireland’s Direct Provision system, an institutional limbo for asylum seekers. For almost 10 years, Funke was shuffled between centres, including the now-defunct Globe House in Sligo. But in all that time, one thing never changed: her dream to one day start her own business, to build a better life.
“I used to tell myself, ‘One day, they will taste my food and know where I come from’,” she said in an interview with B&B International Magazine.
Food was her solace and strength. In kitchens shared with strangers, she would blend peppers and spices, creating dishes that reminded her of Lagos. Every new friend she made became a taste-tester. Every birthday in the Direct Provision centre became an opportunity to feed others. She wasn’t building a menu. She was planting roots.
At 45, long after most people would have given up or settled, Funke opened her own restaurant in the heart of Sligo. It wasn’t flashy, but it was hers. Her signature creation—Jollof Sauce—was a love letter to West African kitchens, tailored for Irish tastebuds. The sauce wasn’t just a condiment; it was a story bottled in red of survival, of culture, of crossing oceans and finding voice in a foreign land.
Now, stocked in several SuperValu outlets and African-Asian stores, her product is gaining quiet but strong traction. The name Funké’s Kitchen is beginning to stir pride in the Afro-Irish community and curiosity among locals.
But behind the success is a woman who still sings while cooking, still experiments with new recipes, and still lights up when meeting strangers. Her five great loves: meeting people, cooking, travelling, singing, and inventing new recipes—are now all part of the life she fought to stay and build.
“Sometimes when I look back, I can’t believe I’m still here. But I always knew I would be. I didn’t know how, but I knew I had something to give,” she says.
Funke Egberongbe’s journey is not a fairytale. It is real, layered with hardship, and full of courage. But most of all, it is a reminder that when people are given a chance—not just to stay, but to belong—they can feed nations.
