As someone who valued good food, Fumi decided to see what the fuss was about. But her packed schedule as a budding journalist left her with little free time, so she decided to visit the restaurant at dawn before the day's rush began.
By 6:00 a.m., Fumi arrived at the restaurant. The street was eerily quiet, with only the faint hum of distant generators breaking the silence. As she approached the front door, she noticed the dining area was empty, the chairs neatly arranged.
"Ah, I'm too early," she muttered to herself. But as she lingered near the entrance, she heard faint noises coming from the kitchen—a clatter of pots and the sound of someone humming. Curiosity piqued, Fumi decided to wait.
Minutes turned into moments of impatience. Unable to resist, she wandered around the building, hoping to find someone to take her order. That's when she noticed a small crack in the kitchen door. A soft yellow light spilled through, along with the unmistakable aroma of onions and peppers frying.
Fumi hesitated for a moment, unsure if she should intrude. But her curiosity got the better of her. She peered through the crack, her journalist instincts kicking in.
What she saw made her heart skip a beat.
Bola stood over a massive pot of steaming soup, stirring with a large, battered spoon. Her face glistened with sweat as she hummed a tune. But what caught Fumi's attention was Bola's peculiar behavior. She watched in horror as Bola scratched her hairy armpit with the same spoon she was using to stir the soup.
Fumi's hand flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp. She kept watching, unable to look away.
Next, Bola reached for a bowl of water sitting on the counter. Fumi recognized it instantly—it was the same bowl Bola had just used to wash her face and hands moments ago. Without hesitation, Bola poured the murky water into the pot of soup, giving it a quick stir.
Fumi's stomach churned. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. Bola continued cooking as if nothing were amiss, completely unaware of her audience.
Fumi backed away from the door, her heart pounding in her chest. She wanted to confront Bola, to demand an explanation, but fear held her back. Instead, she turned and walked quickly down the street, her mind racing.
By the time she reached the main road, Fumi was certain of one thing: the world needed to know the truth about Bola's Kitchen.
As Fumi boarded a keke napep to head back home, she replayed the scene in her mind. The journalist in her was eager to expose Bola, but she couldn't ignore the consequences.