CHAPTER ELEVEN: OWAMBE OR BOMB?
914 Words
Novo Island Hotel, Novo Island - Lagos.
The reception hall smelled like burning suya, overpriced perfume, and desperation. Holographic aso-ebi patterns flickered in the air as drones zipped around delivering pepper soup shots directly into open mouths. The bass from the cyber-enhanced DJ's speakers made the champagne glasses tremble on their trays.
Osaro adjusted his oversized agbada for the fifteenth time, the cheap fabric scratching his neck. Beside him, Ogie kept tripping over his own trousers, the hem already stained with spilled palm wine.
"Osaro," Ogie whispered, tugging at their identical Abuja Souvenirs backpacks, "why did we wear matching bags? We look like twins from a bad Nollywood movie!"
Osaro grinned, revealing a piece of puff-puff stuck in his teeth. "Fool! This is tactical genius! If they catch one of us, the other can escape with double the meat!"
Ogie stared at their backpacks, then at Osaro, then back at the bags. "...That makes no sense."
Across the hall, hidden in plain sight, Bobby, a rebel adjusted his fake catering uniform. His explosive-filled backpack weighed heavily on his shoulders or at least it had before he'd gotten distracted by the mountain of pounded yam at the buffet.
"Just one plate won't hurt," he muttered to himself, already reaching for a serving spoon.
The moment Bobby abandoned his bag by the drinks table was the same moment Ogie turned around looking for a place to stash his stolen meat pies. Spotting what he thought was his identical backpack, he swapped them without a second thought.
"Huh," Ogie said, hefting the new bag. "This feels heavier. Did we pack extra meat?"
Osaro wasn't listening. He was too busy constructing a tower of jollof rice on his plate that defied the laws of physics.
Two hours later, Bobby emerged from his pounded yam coma with a start. He patted his back frantically. "Wait... where's my bomb?!" His eyes darted around the hall until they landed on Ogie, who was currently using the explosive-filled backpack as a footrest while gnawing on his third chicken leg.
"Oh no," Bomboy whispered, a piece of egusi stuck to his chin.
At the exit, their path was blocked by a hulking robot bouncer with scanner eyes that glowed an ominous red.
"Una no get invitation," it intoned. "How una enter?"
Osaro's sweat could have filled a bucket. "Ah! We are... the entertainment!"
Ogie nodded so vigorously his cheeks wobbled. "Mmmhmm! Traditional dancers!"
The robot's ocular sensors narrowed. "Show me."
What followed was the worst attempt at shaku-shaku ever witnessed by man or machine. Ogie flailed like an electrocuted chicken while Osaro moved with all the grace of a beached dolphin.
"See?" Ogie gasped between flailing limbs. "Cultural!"
The robot remained unimpressed. "Una must still pay gate-crashing fine."
"Okay, okay!" Osaro's eyes darted around for an escape. "We are actually... the groom's long-lost brothers!"
Ogie choked. "Osaro," he whispered urgently, "the groom is Yoruba. We are Benin."
Osaro's grin turned manic. "...Adopted brothers!"
The robot's scanners whirred ominously before it extended a clawed hand. "Open bag."
With a shrug, Ogie unzipped the backpack and froze.
Inside sat a very obvious bomb, its wires dangling like poorly done braids.
The silence that followed was louder than the DJ's speakers. Then chaos erupted.
Aunties screamed in slow motion, their gele bobbing as they flipped tables. Uncles dove under chairs, spilling expensive whiskey across the polished floor. The DJ, in a moment of inspired panic, switched to "Nearer My God to Thee."
Osaro stared at the bomb, then at Ogie, his voice climbing several octaves. "Ogie! Why do you have a bomb?!"
Ogie's eyes were the size of saucers. "I thought it was extra meat!"
The robot bouncer produced a taser the size of a small child. "Freeze, Terrorists!"
From the buffet line, Bobby dropped his plate in horror. "No no no... that's my bomb!" Then he remembered, in his hunger-induced haste, he'd never actually finished assembling it.
"Ohhh yeah," he sighed in relief, picking another piece of meat from his teeth. "It doesn't even work yet."
On the floor, Osaro and Ogie were engaged in full prostration, their pleas overlapping.
"Please! We are innocent! We just came for free rice!"
"Yes! We are too stupid to be terrorists!"
The robot scanned the bomb again, then made a sound suspiciously like a sigh. "...This bomb is not functional."
The duo paused mid-sob. "Eh?"
The robot looked almost disappointed. "Una no even sabi how to terrorize properly."
Seizing his chance, Bobby made a break for the exit, only to trip over Aunty Bisi's state-of-the-art anti-gatecrasher robotic gown, which immediately deployed a net around him.
"Let me go!" Bobby thrashed like a caught tilapia. "I am a professional!"
Aunty Bisi whacked him with her fan. "Professional hungry man! You think we don't know fake caterer when we see one?!"
Outside, Osaro and Ogie sat on the curb sharing a stolen bottle of Chapman, their hands still shaking.
"Osaro..." Ogie said solemnly. "We almost died."
Osaro nodded, then froze. "Wait... where's our bag?"
Ogie gasped. "Our meat!"
Meanwhile, Bobby was being dragged away by security officers, still clutching Ogie's bag full of jollof rice and meat to his chest.
"At least," he sniffled, "I ate well."
And as the party resumed inside, the drone cameras caught it all live on Gbege TV, where it would trend for weeks under the hashtag #OwambeBombScare.
Meanwhile, at the Council HQ, someone got demoted for letting a rebel fail because of pounded yam.
- Writer
