CHAPTER 9 – A FLUTTERING HEART

Ama is delighted to see the chief. It is the kind of clientele she hopes her business will attract. She is however curious because she knows the quality of bar foods at his own place and this is close to opening time for them. Surely, the chief is not hungry.
“No. No. Quite the contrary. I’m full and joyful and thought I should come and personally thank you for putting in an appearance at our opening. You and your girl lightened up the occasion. Stopping by to say thank you is the least I can do.”
“Not a problem. Not a problem at all. Like I said to my girl, put a DJ here and we are in the same business more or less. Nothing wrong with showing up for one of our own.”
Ama glances up, finding Ima frozen by the entrance like a salt-carved figure and beckons her over.
“Ima dear, the Chief is here to say thank you to us. Chief, remember my lovely daughter?”
Ama says and clasps her hands in delight as the Chief turns his attention to Ima. “Of course, I remember your beautiful daughter,” He says with a mischievous glint in his eyes as he takes Ima’s hand and kisses it.
“Though I still find it difficult to tell who is the older of the two of you much less understand how you are mother and daughter.”
“Haha stop lying, sir,” Ama says with a playful slap on his arm and turns away to attend to a new order brought in by Castro.
Ima is trying to process what is going on. The chief is still holding her hand and looking into her flummoxed eyes.
“Dear, make Chief comfortable and give him a taste of one of our specials,” Ama calls as Ima leads her man outdoors. “Chief, tonight we made ram asun with parsley and garlic. Sallah is still in the air. And FOOD IS READY will always bring a different slant.”
Ima gulps the cool night air, each ragged breath a desperate attempt to swallow the knot of dread twisting in her gut.
“Are you alright?” the chief says.
“You…you didn’t tell me you were coming,” Ima stammers.
They find a small table for two outdoors. She looks like she is still not getting sufficient oxygen.
“A little surprise does no harm,” the chief chuckles. “Your mum is so pleasant.”
Ima swallows and beckons Irikefe over.
“What would you like sir? We have –“
“I’m fine thanks. Nothing at all.”
“I insist. Mummy insists. Bring a large serving of the asun for Chief. What will you drink sir?”
“No. I’m fine really.”
“When in doubt, make it a beer,” Ima says and Irikefe trudges off.
Ima is now breathing easier. Femi’s gaze burns from across, an unwelcome brand on her skin. But Ima won’t let him or anyone else tarnish her night. A defiant fire ignites in her gut, a promise to savour her deserved bliss.
“Thanks for last night,” she says, her eyes watering inexplicably.
He is still studying her. A smile plays on his lips. His smile, slow and easy, does little to calm the fluttering that has begun in her chest. Her stomach tightens a delicious echo of the night before. The tangled limbs and the musky scent of their forbidden encounter.
Irikefe returns with the sizzling platter, drawing his eyes to a glistening masterpiece. A generous serving of tender strips of meat, flecked with onions and red bell pepper. Curls of steam dance upwards, carrying the unmistakable aroma of roasted garlic – sharp, warm, and inviting. Nestled around the base are vibrant sprigs of parsley.
“I want you and your mother to come and work for me,” he says.
His tone crisp as a freshly starched collar. Ima’s eyes flickered to attention as the fire in her insides subside.
“Bring this to my place.” He says gesturing to the rich dish in front of him.
“No. Mummy will never do that,” Ima says.
There is a message in his eyes, a hint of something dangerous that clashes with the magnetic pull of everything else about him.
“Then I’ll have to convince her myself,” he says.
“But, but why? I don’t understand. I thought you came to see me.”
“Yes. And I came with this proposal. Why? Because you guys are phenomenal and can bring much value to my business and make much more money than you make here.”
“My mummy does not do this just for money.”
“That’s what everybody says.”
“No. I mean, we have a passion for what we do, our brand of cooking. We are restoring the integrity of the traditional cuisine and giving people what they really want when they set out to eat. I mean, my mummy says it better but it is a mission we will not give up just like that.”
“I can understand your serving meals in the afternoon. This is a business district after all and you have a market. But you come out here at night and put these tables and somehow keep these men here till midnight every night without even hitting together a fork and spoon for music? I don’t get it. These boys should be in a proper bar. And I want you to bring along whatever it is they come here for, which include yourselves.”
“No sir. We can do our business in whichever way we want. Not everyone likes loud music. As I said, the whole point of FOOD IS READY is to create a difference. Many just want to have a beer and a hot snack in the evening in peace. We have men who come here regularly to talk. The fresh air, no cigarette smoke, the quiet. They all know the road to all the bars and clubs but chose to come here. It’s their right. And ours too. Different strokes for different folks.”
“Alright,” he says and rises. “Let’s see if I can convince your mum.”
“Wai…wait” Ima says and rises with him. But he makes quick strides and is inside the restaurant again. Ima catches up with him as he takes her mother’s hand and says,
“Thank you for the ram asun. It’s the taste of heaven.”
He didn’t even look at it! Ima is flabbergasted.
“Could you get away for a little while? Like, say thirty minutes, madam? I want us to go somewhere quiet and talk business. I already hinted to your daughter and she understands. She is happy to hold forth here while you are away.”
Ima makes to protest but Ama is already on her feet. Something about the manner of the chief tells her there is excitement ahead.
“Oh okay. Ima dear. It’s my turn to disappear tonight. You know what to do. I’ll be right back,” Ama enthuses.
The floor is spinning under Ima. It doesn’t quite seem real. This man. Charming, dangerous, and sneaky all at once. What is this?
Ima lingers by the entrance, a statue carved from despair. A pneumatic hiss, the signature sigh of the Maybach’s power-closing doors, seals her fate with a finality that echoes in the hollowness of her chest. Her mother and Chief are cocooned in its luxurious embrace, leaving Ima exposed under the harsh glare of the watching men. She can imagine that the blindfold is out already. She can already see her mother spread-eagled in the cosy confines of the high-tech automobile.
“Baba I no tell you?” Castro whispers to Irikefe. Heartbreak hotel! E never even reach twenty-four hours.”
“Omo!” Irikefe says rubbing his hands.
“Oya bestie, go do your work”, Castro prods.
Irikefe glides towards Ima at the entrance of the restaurant. He clears his throat, arranges himself in his best playboy impression and says “Everything alright Bestie?”
“Fuck off to the kitchen and make sure all the soup bowls are clean!”
She swivels and makes her way to the counter to prepare the waiting orders.
Outside, the men continue to banter.
“You see what is happening online?” Charles says. “That oversharing thing you have been talking about, Oscar. It’s been a weekend of unending vawulance starting with Davido and the other actress’s wedding and then people sharing marital problems and cans of worms of infidelity and all kinds of mess being opened with reckless abandon. Why don’t they just come and drink beer and give themselves peace?”
“They analyse who is marrying for money, who is marrying the wrong man or woman, whose new spouse has been married before and stuff. As all this is going on someone else comes out with the story of her husband in multiple affairs and one of the women who was slagging off another on another page is found to be sleeping with this other person’s husband. Ah ahn!” Charles finishes.
“We have seen the details and it’s sad,” Oscar says. “There are children in the mix who will be ridiculed for as long as the internet lives. The unashamed display of schadenfreude – that is taking pleasure in other people’s misfortune, and clear manipulation of the events by influencers… I’m hoping that every discerning person can see just how fucked up we all are. Those who are cackling and enjoying vawulence I hope can see that we are essentially the same. You criticise one thing openly but desire and perpetrate the same thing secretly. Those who have influence mine the situation for online revenues and to build “communities”. One of them has been outed in one of the revelations as well. Lies, pretention, deceit, in a world where none of us is making it out alive. I hope it blows over and we sober up and wait for the ferryman that carries all souls across the same river.”
Femi checks his watch. Just at the very moment when Ama, high up on the 13th floor of a mysterious high-rise building on the outskirts of town removes her blindfold.

TO BE CONTINUED.

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