CHEF 26 by Ojeiwa Ojeabu Omo- Episode 8


The weather on the mainland was gloomy, the wind was cold, and the atmosphere showed signs of an incoming storm, yet Isolo was bubbling with a host of activities; football lovers were cheering their favorite English Premiership clubs at Tv viewing centers, hip-hop music was blasting from a bar across Damilare’s street, and Saturday was playing out its usual script in an exciting manner albeit indoors.

Damilare was among the football spectators, cheering with the other fans when a goal was scored by the team they were supporting and criticizing loudly about the referring style when it wasn’t in their favor. The evening was gradually giving way to night, he looked at the time and shook his head,

‘I need to be home now, I have to go over the details of the event for tomorrow that Kay gave to me today’ he said to himself.

Like a leaf falling from a tree in autumn, he quietly peeled away from the crowd and navigated his way across a street that lead to a shortcut which connected him to his apartment in five minutes. He stepped into his apartment, turning on the lights as he angled towards his reading table where a spiral-bound document lay, he sat down, and began reading it. After an hour, he had succeeded in reading the document from the first page to the last, three times; it was a five pager. He yawned, feeling surprisingly tired, abandoning his reading table, he edged towards the kitchen to prepare dinner.

Some hours later, Damilare had successfully crossed the hurdles of cooking, eating, and doing the dishes. The only hurdle he hadn’t crossed yet was sleep. He turned off the lights in his apartment then landed gingerly on his bed.

‘Dear God’ he prayed, ‘please permit tomorrow’s event to be a success’ he said.


When Damilare got to Cynthia’s family house on Sunday, he was awestruck. He had seen mansion’s in magazines and on TV, but today he was stepping into one. There was a private security team, an Olympic sized swimming pool which idled at the front of the mansion, and he could sight a stable from far-off which probably housed about 12 horses. He soon realized that he had stepped into the elusive kingdom of the ‘upper class’.

He got to the backyard where the cooking and reunion would take place which was as impressive as the front. It was large enough for 30 cars to fit in conveniently with ample space left. One half of the backyard was laced in lush green synthetic carpet grass, and the other with interlocking stones. There was a fountain at the point where the synthetic carpet grass and the interlocking stones met.

‘I really have to stop day dreaming’ he said to himself, as he fished for his cell phone from his trousers and promptly dialed Kaima’s number.


Everyone was talking about the food at the end of the event. Cynthia’s prissy Aunt named Cecilia made a bee line to where Cynthia and Kaima were standing and properly asked for a repeat menu at a sixty-person social event she was organizing in a few weeks.

‘Mail me all the feeding itinerary for the event, will you darling’, looking directly at Cynthia, ‘I’ll pay handsomely’, she drawled, turning her back away quickly before Cynthia could answer in the affirmative.

‘That lady makes me want to shoot myself in the face’, Cynthia told Kaima in a flustered tone.

‘No she doesn’t’ Kaima said with amusement. ‘It’s all in your head.’

Cynthia glared at her friend for a second or two and they both burst out laughing.

‘I seriously hope you are right’, Cynthia finally told Kaima.


Damilare was taking inventory of all the items that had been used and returned during the event. He looked up and saw Kaima, Cynthia and an elegant looking older woman chatting. He returned his attention to the inventory book, noticed that something was missing and in the process of noting it, he heard someone say,

‘Hello! Are you the chef that blessed us with the wonderful food that was served here today?’ The person asked.

Damilare tore his attention away from the inventory book as he looked up to see who had asked the question and what he saw left him speechless; a breathtakingly attractive woman with the most amazing body clad in a knee level purple gown and a smile as bright as the sun stood opposite him, eyes behind dark shades which gave her an air of seductive mystery.

‘Are you talking to t-t-t-to me?’ Damilare asked, stammering in the process.

She smiled. ‘Yes’ she said, ‘of course I am, you are the only one here’ she chuckled, taking off her shades. ‘My name is Lola,’ she stretched out her hands; he stretched out his slowly for a quick handshake. He couldn’t help but notice how soft her palms felt and perfectly manicured her nails looked. She probably hasn’t worked a day in her life. He told himself before speaking.

‘Hi, my name is Damilare’, he replied as sweat beads appeared on his forehead.

…… be continued

Genre: Nigerian Romance/ Fiction


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