Chapter 2: The Generator War
1389 Words
(Amara’s POV)
The next afternoon brought a heatwave that threatened to melt the tarmac on the street.
It was 1:00 PM. The sun was sitting directly on top of the corrugated iron roof of Baba’s Pot. It turned the kitchen into an oven. I had a full house. Most of them were loyal customers like Uncle Dele who were sweating over their hot soup.
Then the power authority struck.
There was no warning. Just the sudden heavy silence as the ceiling fans groaned to a halt. The refrigerator’s hum died.
"Ah! NEPA!" someone shouted from the front.
I didn't panic immediately. I was used to this. I wiped sweat from my brow and marched to the backyard to start the backup generator. It was the trusty rusted "I pass my neighbor." It couldn't power the deep freezer but it could keep the fans spinning so my customers didn't suffocate.
I grabbed the starter rope. I planted my foot against the metal frame and pulled.
Rrrr-ghhh. Nothing.
I pulled again. Harder.
Rrrr-ghhh. Cough.
"Don't do this to me," I begged. I yanked the rope a third time with frustration. The machine roared for a second. It sputtered violently. Then the rope snapped back. It scraped the skin off my knuckles.
"Ouch!" I hissed. I clutched my bleeding hand. The generator died completely. Smoke rose from it and choked me.
I let out a frustrated scream but there was no time to cry. The kitchen was getting hotter by the second.
I ran inside and grabbed a stack of woven handfans from the shelf. They were souvenirs from a cousin’s wedding three years ago. I hurried into the dining area.
"Sorry sah. Sorry ma," I said. I passed the fans out to the sweating customers. "Please manage. The generator is giving trouble but the food is still hot."
Uncle Dele accepted a fan and grunted. "The food is hot Amara. But we are boiling."
I forced a smile. "The light will come back soon Uncle. Just a few minutes."
But the light did not come back.
One hour passed.
The heat inside Baba’s Pot became unbearable. Two customers finished their meals quickly and left without ordering drinks. The air was thick and heavy.
I walked over to my deep freezer. It was a relic from the 90s. The rubber seal around the door was loose and cracked. It didn't hold the cold like modern machines. Without power, the ice inside melted rapidly.
I touched the side of the freezer. It didn't feel cold anymore. It felt tepid.
Panic finally set in.
Inside that freezer was fifty thousand Naira worth of fresh turkey and catfish I had bought on credit. If they thawed and spoiled I wouldn't just lose money. I would lose my reputation.
I needed ice. Desperately.
I ran to the front door. Across the street The Garnish was humming. Their massive silent generator had been running for an hour. The customers inside looked cool and comfortable behind the glass.
I saw a young waiter in a blue uniform sweeping the front step of The Garnish. I knew him vaguely. His name was Samuel.
I swallowed my pride. I had no choice.
I crossed the street. I wiped my greasy hands on my apron.
"Samuel," I called out. I kept my voice low so his boss wouldn't hear. "Abeg I need a favor. My freezer seal is bad and the turkey is defrosting. Can you sell me a bucket of ice from your machine? I’ll pay."
Samuel looked at me. Then he looked at Baba’s Pot. "Okay Madam. Let me quickly go to the back and fill a bucket for you. Wait here."
He disappeared inside. I waited by the gate. I shifted from foot to foot. I prayed Tunde wouldn't see me. I felt dirty. My apron was stained with palm oil. My hair was messy from the heat. My hand was bleeding.
Five minutes passed. Then the glass doors opened.
But it wasn't Samuel.
It was Tunde.
He walked out carrying a large heavy cooler of ice like it weighed nothing. He looked immaculate. He was clean-shaven and his jawline was sharp. He wore a crisp sky-blue shirt that looked like it cost more than my rent. As he stepped closer the smell hit me. It was not sweat. It was a rich warm cologne that smelled like a chocolate factory.
He stopped in front of me.
"Samuel said you needed this," he said. His voice was calm. It was devoid of mockery but I felt my face burn with shame.
"I asked Samuel," I snapped. I stepped back defensively. "I didn't ask you."
"I'm the owner, Amara. Samuel doesn't have the key to the ice store. I do." He held the cooler out. "Take it. It’s hot today."
I looked at the ice. Then I looked at his perfect shirt. Then I looked at my own bleeding knuckle. The contrast made me want to scream.
"I can buy my own ice," I lied. My voice shook. "I don't need your charity."
"It's not charity. Consider it a neighborly loan." He noticed my hand. His eyes narrowed slightly. "You hurt yourself."
"It's nothing," I hissed. I hid my hand behind my back. "Just give me the ice if you're going to give it."
I snatched the cooler from him. I was careful not to touch his hands. "I'll return the bucket later."
"You're welcome," Tunde said dryly.
I didn't say thank you. I turned and marched back to my restaurant. I dragged the heavy cooler behind me. I felt his eyes on my back the whole way.
I dumped the ice into my freezer to save the turkey. But I was so angry I was shaking.
That night I nursed my hand alone in my room. I put a small plaster on the scrape. The house was quiet. I picked up my phone.
User77 (ChefX): Rough service?
I lay back on my pillow. I was too tired to type properly. My thumbs just flew over the screen.
Me (SpiceGirl): My generator died. Scraped my knuckles trying to fix the stupid thing. And worse I had to take help from the enemy. He looked so perfect while I looked like a mechanic.
I waited.
User77 (ChefX): At least you got the help. I tried to help a stray cat today and it hissed at me. Almost scratched my eyes out.
I paused. I looked at the text.
Stray cat.
I thought about how I had snapped at Tunde earlier. How I had snatched the bucket.
Me (SpiceGirl): Maybe the cat was just scared. Or maybe you smelled like trouble.
User77 (ChefX): Actually I’ve been told I smell like chocolate. Does that count as trouble?
My phone slipped from my hand and hit my face.
Chocolate.
I stared at the screen. My heart hammered against my ribs. Tunde smelled like chocolate. ChefX smelled like chocolate.
No. It was impossible. It was a common scent. Lots of men wore cocoa butter or vanilla colognes. I was overthinking it.
Me (SpiceGirl): Chocolate is sweet. You sound bitter.
User77 (ChefX): Touché. Go to sleep SpiceGirl. Hope your knuckles heal.
I froze.
Knuckles.
For a second my blood ran cold. How did he focus on the knuckles specifically? Tunde had looked right at my knuckles earlier. Was it him?
I frantically scrolled up to check my earlier message. My eyes scanned the text I had sent in a rush.
...Scraped my knuckles trying to fix the stupid thing...
I let out a long breath and dropped the phone on my chest.
"You are going crazy Amara," I whispered to the empty room. "Of course you told him. Go to sleep."
I typed a quick reply.
Me (SpiceGirl): Thanks. Goodnight Chef.
I rolled over and closed my eyes. I fell asleep dreaming of melting ice and the smell of cocoa.
- Writer
