His nose twitched as the scent of fried chicken rent the air, accompanied with the aroma of onions. The aroma traveled down to the olfactory receptors in his nose, waking him from his afternoon nap. He stood up to follow the trail of the peppery sauce fragrance, seasoned with "Omi Eran” or Stock water as the Oyinbo (white) people would call it. His nose flared in search for more; the herbal scent of garlic and ginger, mixed with curry and thyme almost tore his nose apart.
The heavenly whiff of dodo (plantain) sneaked into his nostrils, causing his mouth to water involuntarily, resurrecting his taste buds; making him forget his name, age and state of origin for a moment.
“Yeeeh!” he cried out as he struck his leg on a stool in a haste to get to the genesis — the kitchen.
The image that greeted him made his stomach growl in desire. Curly-like steam was rising out of the dish, with orange-in-complexion Jollof rice sitting deliciously in his favorite blue flat breakable plate; it was not like the bleached rice his ex girlfriend used to prepare. Two drumsticks of chicken, dipped into a peppery stew lay scrumptiously in the middle of the food, and beside it were fried plantains coated with eggs, just the way his mom usually fried his plantains by dipping the plantains into a bowl of eggs before frying.
Inside the Jollof rice was a plastic spoon; he rubbed his hands with glee and chuckled. The best utensil to eat the meal was a plastic spoon, nothing else would be better. Alongside the love of his life (Jollof Rice) was a chilled bottle of Pepsi, drops of water rolling down the bottle, making a little pool of its own on the kitchen counter.
“Enjoy your meal Obi'm”
“What the Fuck?!” he cursed.
The voice made him stop abruptly, hitting his foot again on the chair, the only furniture in the kitchen. Only one person called him that, just one person. His ex. What was she doing in his kitchen? Obviously, she prepared the food, when did her culinary skills improve? Was this a temptation? Father lord! Help me, I think I’m gonna fall for this one, he thought.
“Your friend let me in” she said, answering his first question.
“Probably for a plate of Jollof, that snitching bastard!” he muttered under his breath.
She came closer, licking her red lips; he moved backwards, his back touching the fridge. There was no place to hide now, she smiled, revealing the gap in between her front teeth, her hands went to his chest, caressing it and pressing kisses on his neck and face. He pushed her way.
“You have to leave now; I told you already, it is over! How many times do i have to say this?”
“I can’t do without you Obi'm, I can’t live without my heart”
“Please, I don’t want to accept you back based on pity, I can’t give you what you want any longer, and you will only end up getting hurt”.
The light in her eyes changed. Its intensity could burn a piece of metal to ashes, she picked a cup from the counter and threw it at the wall.
“I hate you”, and she stormed off.
The door closed behind her and not long after his friend opened it again, startling him. He threw his head back and laughed, seeing his friend with red lipstick stains on his face and neck was hilarious.
“So you sold your own paddy for a plate of rice, ehn?”
“Not just rice mumu, Almighty Jollof rice”
“Abeg, let’s cover this food with the blood of Jesus”
his friend laughed again, this time with tears rolling down his cheeks.