Where are you going to?”
“I will be back, I want to urinate!”
Since brother Wale’s assumption of duty as the chief fryer of bean cake in Maami’s bean cake hangout after her ailment struck, his harshness increased to almost c—-x. I remember him almost frying my left hand along with bean cakes just because I was dozing off while molding the cakes.
“Always urinating! Please I need you to axe this firewood!” That was my second hobby.
I was not only brother Wale’s special assistant; I was also his wood pecker.
Every evening while I axed the firewood in preparation for business, I just couldn’t help but to weep deep down, wishing Maami was hale and hearty, wishing her kidney had not failed.
Brother Wale and I toiled everyday in the farm, and at night we sold bean cakes to gather enough money to give to the doctor for the transplant.
I just wished she wasn’t ill. Like goose pimples, nostalgia surrounds my body whenever I remember how Maami made delicious bean cakes that made customers came back for more. She could bake cakes to feed the whole community and there would still be twelve baskets full of leftovers, yet her bean cakes were second to none in taste. What do we have? Those baked by brother Wale were nothing but culinary failures. At some point, I thought of advising him that we should add a sweetener to our bean cakes to keep customers patronizing us stuck like bee to nectar, if I had advised him, I know stubborn brother Wale wouldn’t had listened.
So I decided to go to the extreme and brought sugar to work one evening.
The chance to carry out my “plan” came when Brother Wale went home to fetch more firewood and told me to watch the bean cakes on fire. I hurriedly sprinkled some of the sugar on the cakes and I noticed Yemi my friend saw me from the corner of his eyes yet he pretended he didn’t see me.
What resulted about twenty minutes later was Okon one of our customers complaining his stomach ached; that it seemed there was a snake moving in his stomach. “Yes there are indeed snakes moving around your stomach; sugar snakes!” I said to myself.
When Brother Wale returned with the firewood, he yelled and yelled asking if I added something to the cake that made almost all the customers complained.
“me? I did not add anything oh” I answered.
“And did you fry it well?” Brother Wale asked.
“I see am dey pour something for inside the Akara!” Yemi my talkative friend said.
“Mumu! na groundnut oil I dey pour that time!” I attacked him.
“yeeeeeh! Seyi you can lie ooh!” Yemi the never-say-die-dragon said.
“drag-drag boy! You be dragon!” I attacked.
“I be dragon abi! Oya make we check your pocket! The thing wey you pour for the frying pan dey your pocket” When Yemi said that I knew I was in soup; Ogbonno soup precisely.
“Okay come here let me search your pocket!” Brother Wale commanded.
As I took the slowest five steps of my life towards where Brother Wale stood I said the Lord’s prayer hurriedly three times; wishing the sugar in my pocket would disappear.
All of a sudden Brother Wale’s phone beeped. The message he read made his face gloomy instantly. “I need to go see the doctor now!” He said.
“Hope there is no problem?” I asked.
“Problem? I think there is!”
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