The aroma of spices and sizzling onions wafted through the streets of Surulere every morning, announcing the beginning of another busy day at Bola's Kitchen. People from all walks of life—traders, office workers, artisans, and even students—flocked to her small restaurant, eager to taste the magic that only Bola could create.
Bola's culinary journey began in her mother's kitchen, where she spent countless hours as a child watching her mother stir steaming pots of soup and pound yam with effortless grace. Unlike her mother, who believed in meticulous cleaning and careful food preparation, Bola had always been more focused on the flavors. "It's the taste that matters," she would say with a laugh whenever her mother scolded her for skipping chores.
Her philosophy hadn't changed much over the years. Now in her late 30s, Bola had become a local celebrity, known far and wide for her ability to transform the simplest ingredients into mouthwatering delicacies. Her jollof rice, rich with a medley of spices, was said to rival even the most extravagant catering services. Her nkwobi, a delicacy made from cow foot, was so tender and flavorful that it left her customers licking their fingers.
Despite her success, Bola's work ethic was unconventional. She had little regard for cleanliness, a fact she managed to keep hidden from her adoring customers.
Five years ago, Bola took a leap of faith and used her life savings to open her restaurant. At first, it was a modest operation—a few tables, a small menu, and a single assistant. But as word spread about her cooking, the restaurant quickly grew into a bustling hub. People came from neighboring areas, often standing in long queues just to get a taste of her food.
The more her fame grew, the less she worried about the behind-the-scenes details. Her kitchen was often cluttered with dirty utensils and leftovers from previous meals. The pots and pans, blackened with soot, rarely saw the touch of soap. Yet, none of this seemed to affect the taste of her food.
"What they don't know won't hurt them," Bola would mutter under her breath, dismissing the occasional complaints from her assistant about the state of the kitchen.