Hot Cake 4

Click here HOT CAKE 3 to remember the storyline 

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Recent Time-

The moment I stepped out of the plane, something came alive within me. The fresh but hot air I used to wail over filled my lungs and brought tears to my eyes. Despite all the crisis rocking my Naija, I really missed her and finally I was back home. The joy I felt at that moment was overwhelming.

Well, that was a week ago. After spending a week at home with loved ones, enjoying the endless gists, my mother's traditional delicacies and being pampered by everyone, I was ready to announce my arrival to friends and well-wishers. But who was in town and who was I ready to mingle with after all these years?

I decided the best place to start from was my school group but somehow I was hesitant to announce my arrival on the group especially since I was a silent observer and some would think it was a joke. Ditching the idea of a broadcast on the group, I decided to send a private chat to my girl. The blue tick next to my message was followed by a call from her and deafening loud screams of welcome. Her voice was music to my ears and her mood electrical and contagious. Before long I was driving through Abj's mad traffic to meet up with her. 

Our reunion was as I expected. We hugged like long lost sisters, screeching like teenagers and admiring each other. After the craziness, we headed for the most expensive homegrown restaurant. My taste buds were already violated in a good way and I was yearning for more traditional delicacies. I could swear I had gained some pounds already but since a few pounds meant more curves I was eager and hungry.

Being a Saturday evening, the restaurant she took me to was lit with people and good jamz. The music hit us the moment we walked in and it took years of self control to get me to resist rocking my waist to that beat. Nodding my head in tune, I decided clubbing was my next to do.  

The moment I hit any club, self control would run out in shame sef, I thought as I calculated my next move.

A small tip, followed by a call to a manager and a petite beautiful young lady led us to a relatively quiet and nice spot they suddenly tagged VVIP, lol! Naija no dey carry last. 

Anyway, we settled down at the table and made our orders. Before long, another waiter served us the most artfully arranged abacha (African salad) with another platter of ugba. The aroma and a look at the foaming palmwine being placed on the table got my heart jumping in ecstasy. The beats my stomach was reeling out at that moment could shame any Naija DJ's mixtape. I wanted to twirl on my toes like a little girl as I wiped my hands on the hot hand towel the waiter presented. 

With a wide grin, I picked up my cutlery but before I could get busy my girl started a prayer. 

How did I forget prayer always came before a meal in Naija? Nikky nawa for you!  

Dropping my cutlery, I bent my head. Omo, the prayer before food nearly turned into a retreat and the food almost went cold by the time she said Amen. Swallowing my complaints, I decided to save my energy for the beautiful array of delicacies.  I scooped a forkful and was about to devour my delectable meal when my friend screeched again;

"Is that not? Elvis! Omg!"

My hand paused midair. Why can't this woman  just enjoy her meal without drama?  I was confused and becoming annoyed with the constant interjections. She stood up and I placed my cutlery down with a sad sigh.

Who is Elvis and what has he or she got to do with our abacha and ugba? 

Since she was waving frantically while looking happily at something or someone behind me, I turned in my seat and somehow, for reasons I could not decipher, someone turned off the oxygen in the restaurant...