Sauntering across the southeast Hogò neighborhood, nicknamed "Blue Leaves" after the company employing two thirds of the adjacent population, my feet stepped on cleaner streets under a litany of azure habitations.
The keekueek warbled by the buttery beak of a turquoise Idìbò whose navy eyes focused on donk-donk away the shiny signboards to no avail under the hee-hee-hee from the nearby children; others foot-foot-foot their feathers in the sky, their squamous talons and gangly necks stretching in the open air.
The milling crowd had better clothes and technology, their eyes full of joy and glee, enraptured by the din of billboards promise of personal fantasy.
Nàmàs like agoidja, yadòngo and oèsèti frisking gaily indicated their emerging prosperity. An odor of alcohol tainted the floor of their open stores.
A couple minutes later, we arrived at our eating place: Btotò Buffet. A cyan dome standing out among rectangular constructions, its gilded namesake flickered with gumption around potential patrons, despite the scent of oil its walls couldn't abate.
My looted memories made it the only buffet in town, offering a bevy of food up front, so I don't hafta wait.
I'm famished anyway.
Inside, a shoal of people hoarded their trays from russet stands in the midmost of a beige hall, their green chairs groaning near a scattered set of tables 'round the walls.
The general burble echoed through my ears, while the corralled odors from too many victuals made me sneer.
Strangely, the immaculate tiled floor cooled my feet, chilling an otherwise steaming atmosphere.
As usual, we had a black sphere for a cashier, flanked with trays above the red counter.
"Welcome to Btotò Buffet! Please use the platter next to me! We hope you'll enjoy your meal!" it piped in a gravelly voice.
"Thank you!" I replied.
What a respectful little robot.
A shame wùsù didn't partake in its creation…
Our trays and plates in our hungry hands, I examined the various aliments.
There's rice, ndòlè —a green sauce made of vegetables combined with peanuts—and còqì—orange cubes flushed with red oil—topped my to-eat list. What's more, these meals were grown artificially, negating any harmful fats or bacteria their natural counterparts may provide.
A yellow meat called wùaisôn, whose tender texture made your mouth cry with pleasure, piqued my interest.
We'll see if it justifies its higher price point.
Dibìé picked up some hard missòlè, which is fried plantain cut in slices, then added ndòlè to his plate. He also nabbed some jùkì, a sùé —a nàmà dwelling in the sea famous for its jagged bones—along with some sparkling water.
My mouth had no need to be bothered with such food; wùaisôn suited my soon-to-be-known tastes. "Yo buddy, serve me. And hold my tray while you're at it!"
"Of course, My Overlady," he said, taking his and my serving plates in shaky hands.
He laid his tray on the floor. "What do you want to consume, My Overlady?"
"Dole me some wùaisôn, some rice and ndòlè on the side, along with two cubes of còqì for now," I ordered.
He placed the aliments on the plates, then picked up his tray, albeit with difficulty.
A two-person table was available next to a window glass.
Sitting on a green chair, I was finally able to dig in. "Baby, time to eat!" I said, rubbing my hands with joy.
"Thank the Malòbà benevolence…" Dibìé said with a sarcastic smile.
I chuckled. "They never intervened in our business before, so what makes you think they'll do what they never did in all of history? hee-hee-hee-hee-hee!"
Snorting, he began to eat.
Having said that, if their only contributions were these random Ètòti, how could they threaten our universe?
If we displeased them, wouldn't they have been able to do so long ago, when our religions were believed and extant?
That didn't make sense…
Waving these thoughts away, I picked up my fork, leaving some còqì on my tongue.
Mmm … it had a filling side to it, but my mouth L-O-V-E-D it!
At last, my throat had something else besides two co*ks and the river's flow.
This còqì wended its way to my stomach, waiting to be digested over a period of time. Dipping another slice of còqì within the ndòlè, it ended up in my mouth shortly thereafter. Mmm! Yeah-eah-eah … wèè, it tastes great!
The green sauce's sour taste counterbalanced the còqì's spiciness very well … let's try the rice now…
Filling, though insipid, I mixed it with ndòlè to see how it'll fare … ayooh… Perfect!
The soft sourness with the rice's satiating aftertaste became my favorite of the moment!
Boy, will this combination be back with a vengeance!
It has to be, damn it!
It just has to be!
Finally, the meat, so let's see … oh, Mbéatowè, come down from heaven to taste this fu*ker before I mount your a*s!
Èkè!
This sooo good! Oh-ho-ho! Wow…
Elated, I emptied my tray within minutes, while my baby ate his jùkì, having finished his missòlè. "Not done yet, honey? I see you've got some work left to do…" I said, looking at his plate.
"I'm handling myself well, My Overlady," he replied. "You finished your plate so quickly, did you have time to enjoy your food?"
"Yep! And I'm definitely gonna get seconds, plus taste some new food! But I wanna know, what were you doing in your spare time before?"
"...Painting, actually…"
"Really? My memories say it's a hobby for rich folks…"
His eyes stared beyond the window, glimmering at a lost hope. "Indeed it is. Getting painting material is pretty expensive, but I still wanted to do it. Having no money, I self-taught myself … it took me about five years to get the funds necessary, but it was worth it. That's one of the things I miss since you've taken me … and all the reason why I want to escape your clutches even more … that and being able to wear clothes again, that goes without saying…" he said, his eyes brimming with determination. Tapping the gilded device resting on his left ear, he pursued, "This wùsù book may be the key to my freedom, and I won't brush this golden opportunity away!"
He made me chortle.
Caressing the top of his left leg with my right foot, he recoiled, surprised.
The sudden warmth of his silky limb gave me a hexa boner once again … "And what makes you think you won't be able to paint under my leadership? You know the conditions, and in the future they may very well be fulfilled, honey … but in between, you're gonna be my di*k comforter for a long while … besides, I learned everything there is to know about this book, so good luck defeating me with it, hee-hee-hee-hee-hee!" I said to a slightly dejected Dibìé.
I was tickling my husband when someone closed in on us.
An olivà man, he sported blue jeans and a sky blue dashiki shirt rimmed in gold, with "Jongèlè" etching its left side…