The Day Lagos Stood Still for One Jollof Rice
Lagos traffic is a given, but imagine if the gridlock wasn’t caused by the usual bad roads, rain, or an overly ambitious trailer driver, but by a single plate of jollof rice?
It all started with a simple but bold declaration from Chef Femi, a culinary sensation known for his daring takes on traditional dishes. He claimed to have cracked the ultimate jollof rice recipe, better than Ghana’s, superior to Senegal’s, and even leagues ahead of the legendary smoky party jollof.
His secret? A delicate balance of firewood-infused flavor, imported Cameroonian pepper, handpicked tomatoes sun-dried to perfection, and a blend of spices that had been passed down in his family for generations. According to him, one spoonful would bring tears of joy, two would transport you to heaven, and three might just make you forget your entire life’s struggles. To prove his point, he announced a one-day-only free tasting session at an upscale restaurant in Victoria Island.
Lagosians, being Lagosians, took this personally.
By 9 a.m., the road leading to the restaurant was already filled with cars and keke drivers shouting, “Oga, I no fit pass, Jollof don block road!” Mainland folks had left their homes before dawn, influencers were livestreaming the chaos, and scalpers were selling ‘premium’ queue spots for ₦50,000. A businessman in a G-Wagon allegedly offered a young lady ₦100,000 for her place in line, but she refused. “Sir, this is bigger than money. It’s about history.”
The restaurant had anticipated a crowd, but not Lagos in full force. The first set of lucky tasters emerged from the restaurant with glassy eyes, nodding in silent approval. “My ancestors just hugged me, bro,” one of them muttered. Twitter went wild with reports of people fainting after taking their first bite.
But just as things reached peak frenzy, disaster struck. The chef ran out of rice.
Confusion turned to anger. Someone suggested those who had already eaten should regurgitate a few grains for others. A group of frustrated mainlanders threatened to riot. Debates broke out over who deserved a plate more, those who arrived first or those who came with pure intentions and not just vibes.
Just when it seemed like chaos would erupt, a wise old woman, who had been silently observing, stepped forward. Raising her hand, she spoke in a calm but firm voice:
“Is it not better to cook another pot than to burn down Lagos over rice?”
A hush fell over the crowd. Some nodded. Others sighed. The riot was averted.
As for me? While the city stood still for jollof, I was patiently in my house, microwaving my amala and ewedu soup. Nothing beats the satisfaction of home-cooked meals. That, I concur to.
See also: The Lies We All Pretend Are True
