5 Minutes More

The restaurant had an offensive odor. Maybe someone made washing-soda at the back, I thought. The ceiling fan wound round like a tired marathoner. It sounded like those small generators when they finally run out of fuel and about to quench. Like mama Nkechi’s snore.



I finally ordered; two chickens, one egg, fried plantain, fried rice and one other thing that looked like fried potato. Later, I realized it wasn’t potato. It tasted like soured beans. I quickly used the Malta-Guinness to douse the bizarre taste. The sales girl watched me as I ate. She was tall. No. Not tall. She just had a long neck.

The malt did not taste well in my mouth. I blamed the straw. I removed the straw and drank directly from the can. But the taste remained the same. I never knew my taste buds were now colonized by zobo. Zobo has been my favorite drink. I combined it with anything, maybe everything. Zobo and rice. Zobo and beans. Zobo and garri. In fact, I almost drank zobo and 7up. It was that addictive.

I bit the first meat. Then the second. Took some spoon of rice. I ate disorderedly. Even if a beautiful
girl sat beside me writing very fast, I ignored her. But why was she writing in a restaurant? I almost asked. She had a large head, like a bicycle’s seat.

“5 minutes more!” The sales girl screamed. I raised my head. The lady looked more sternly. She walked towards me and said “Why are you sleeping in the exam hall? Stand up.”

Ezekiel Efeobhokhan
600 level Pharmacy
UNIBEN

EzekielTrisler
Changing lives through creative write-ups…

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