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Customers couldn't get enough of her food. "Bola, you're a genius!" one man exclaimed as he devoured a plate of her egusi soup.
"Why should I bother cooking at home when you're here?" a woman joked as she ordered a second helping of fried rice and chicken.
Over time, many people stopped cooking altogether. It was simply more convenient—and far more enjoyable—to eat at Bola's Kitchen. Her meals were not only affordable but also packed with flavors that seemed to soothe the soul.
Little did they know, behind the scenes, Bola's cooking methods were far from pristine.
The Rising Concerns
As months turned into years, a peculiar trend began to emerge. Customers who frequented Bola's Kitchen started complaining of stomach pains, diarrhea, and other mysterious ailments. Some chalked it up to the unpredictable Lagos weather, while others blamed their own poor eating habits.
Bola heard these complaints but paid them no mind. "It's not my food," she would say confidently. "If it were, people wouldn't keep coming back."
Her belief was not entirely misplaced. Despite the occasional grumblings, the restaurant remained as popular as ever. Bola's charisma and cooking skills seemed to overshadow any doubts people might have had.
But beneath the surface, trouble was brewing, and it was only a matter of time before the truth came to light.
Bola's kitchen came alive before the first rays of sunlight touched the bustling streets of Lagos. Her day started at 4:00 a.m., long before any of her customers arrived. The clattering of pots and the hiss of frying oil were the sounds of her morning routine, accompanied by the intoxicating scent of spices that seemed to seep into the very walls of her tiny restaurant.
But this early morning hustle revealed a different side of Bola—one that her customers never saw.