F.A.T-Chapter Two

I tried to listen attentively as our borrowed History lecturer droned on, but my eyes kept drifting toward the couple seated just ahead of me. They whispered, exchanged folded notes, and giggled like two children who had just discovered a secret.

Lord, please help me to focus, I prayed silently, before quickly switching seats. With that little distraction out of sight, I finally managed to concentrate.

“So, we’ll continue from there next week by God’s grace,” Miss Bolanle concluded with a small smile. “Please endeavor to research on the precolonial masters, okay?”

“Yes, ma,” the class chorused in unison.

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Philippians 4:19.

“What should we do now?” Funke yawned beside me as we left the lecture hall. We had the rest of the day free until our usual study session at 4 p.m., which gave us plenty of idle time to fill.

My stomach groaned before I could respond. “Let’s grab lunch.” Funke’s face lit up instantly. “Good idea!”

We headed straight to the best canteen around the park. The moment we stepped in, the rich aroma of beans, rice, and fried chicken filled the air. We joined the short line, ready to place our usual orders.

But then I noticed her, a tired-looking woman carrying her baby, the child slipping dangerously from the wrapper meant to secure her. My heart skipped. Without thinking, I dashed forward and adjusted the wrapper just in time before the baby tumbled.

The woman blinked at me in confusion, then realization washed over her face. Relief turned into gratitude as she smiled and whispered, “Thank you, thank you,” over and over. I gave her a small nod and slipped back to my spot at the counter.

At first, I thought that was the end of it. But a few minutes later, she approached us again.

The serving girl behind the counter straightened. “Good afternoon, Madam!” she greeted with unusual respect. I froze. Madam? The owner?

Funke’s jaw dropped so wide I thought it might never close. “You and your friend can order as much as you like,” the woman said warmly. “Bills on the house. Thank you for saving me from trouble. Take care.”

Funke and I exchanged a stunned glance before bursting into grateful smiles.

“A blank cheque?” Funke whispered excitedly.

“You heard her,” I said, trying not to laugh at the sparkle in her eyes.

Funke wasted no time. She ordered a heaping plate of beans and rice with the biggest chicken piece in the tray, the largest cup of salad available, and a chilled bottle of Maltina.

I kept my own order simple, though indulgent: rice with two boiled eggs, pomo, a side of salad (not the biggest cup, unlike Funke), two thighs of barbecued peppered chicken, and a chilled bottle of Fayrouz.

The serving girl chuckled as she slid our trays across the counter. It was obvious we knew how to maximize an opportunity.

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We carried our treasure to a secluded corner on the left side of the canteen. Bowing our heads, we said grace quickly.

“Finally,” Funke muttered, her eyes fixed on her mountain of food.

Her prayer was so rushed I burst into laughter. “What’s funny?” she asked, already reaching for her spoon.

“Nothing,” I said, grinning as she dove into her meal with delight.

We devoured every bite, savoring each grain and each juicy bite of chicken. The best part? This feast wasn’t on our bill.

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We joyfully bid each other goodnight, and I hopped into a tricycle, a keke napep,  heading home. My lips curved into a smile as the evening’s events replayed in my head. The woman from the canteen had later resurfaced with not one, but two packs of steaming hot asun (peppered goat meat) for Funke and me.

Once outside, Funke had looked at me with wide eyes, her face painted in bewilderment. “God is good,” I said simply.

She nodded quickly, tore open her pack, prayed over it in record time, and started devouring it right there. I shook my head, laughing, and dragged her along with me.

     

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“Adaobi is back!” Chinaza’s voice rang out like a town crier, announcing my arrival to the entire world. She darted into my arms, her small body fitting perfectly as I scooped her up.

Her nose twitched. “Something’s in your bag,” she declared with all the seriousness of a detective.

“Yes, genius, there is.” I retrieved a plate from the kitchen and poured the contents of the package into a large bowl, the aroma filling the room.

“Where did you get that from?” Mum’s voice cut through, stern yet curious. She stood at the doorway, hands on her hips, the classic akimbo stance.

Before I could reply, Chinaza bent dangerously out of my arms, trying to grab a chunk. Mum’s glare froze her mid-motion, and she quickly buried her face in my chest. Laughing, I explained the story to Mum. She listened intently, then gave a satisfied nod.

“Have you prayed on it?” she asked.

“Not yet.”

“Do so. . .then enjoy.” With that, she smiled and walked away. Mum had a strict policy about gifts; nothing passed her lips without prayer first.

I whispered a short prayer over the food, Chinaza echoing my words, before heading upstairs to change. I left her happily attacking the sumptuous package.     

A beep from my phone caught my attention. Struggling with my blouse, I accidentally tore it in frustration, finally yanking it off before checking my screen.

Didn’t see you today @ sport arena. Coming over. You better cook. — Alfred.

I chuckled. Yea right, Alfred.

Dropping onto my bed, I dozed off until a knock sounded at my door.

“Yes?”

“Alfred is around,” Mum’s voice said from behind the door. “Why didn’t you cook? He said he sent you a message.”

I groaned into my pillow. “I’ll be down soon,” I muttered.

“You better, and cook for him,” she teased, pushing the door open slightly.

“Mum!” I groaned again.

“I’m waiting, Missy,” she called as she walked off.

Dragging myself up, I slipped into a big black polo and blue shorts. Descending the staircase, I saw him, tall, dark, athletic build, curly hair that refused to behave, and that boyish grin that somehow made his flawless skin even more striking.

“You’re so annoying,” I muttered.

He feigned innocence. “What are you talking about?”

“How could you tell Mum about the food?”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t if I didn’t. And besides” he smirked. “Mum loves me.”

I rolled my eyes. That part, I couldn’t deny. Mum adored his company.

Alfred had been my childhood friend, though part of his early life was spent in Houston, Texas. I dragged him by the sleeve toward the kitchen.

“Hey, careful with the shirt!” he protested.

Ignoring him, I pulled out a saucepan. “Get the spaghetti from the right drawer and break it.”

He saluted. “Yes ma’am.”