Tara: A Baker's Adventure

003

UCHE HAD SIGNED UP FOR the gym few months ago when he noticed he was developing "man boobs". Since he was a firm believer in people taking responsibility for their own lives, the gym was now where he spent his mornings.

"Take responsibility and do something about the things you're not comfortable with. That's what changed my life, and I'm not even kidding," he told me in our final year at the university. Battling final exams and our final thesis, we were both awake in the middle of the night at his studio apartment. When he launched into a story of how he had been sent off by his parents in Owerri to his aunt's house here in Lagos, the overly playful, vibrant Uche was gone. He spoke about often feeling left out by his aunt's children and being constantly reminded that he wasn't a part of their immediate family. His aunt, a serious-minded, no-nonsense woman who owned almost four businesses, was barely aware of what was going on in the house.

"It was like she was afraid of being broke," Uche had said in respect to the number of businesses his aunt owned. "When she was at home, she would sit in front of the TV and watch a movie till she fell asleep, but no one dared to touch the TV remote to change the channel."

"My admission to this university, I handled everything," he seemed to smile at the memory. "It was only a day before leaving the house that my aunt knew I had been processing it all along. She was shocked."

"What I'm trying to say is," he continued, "last last, there are some situations you'll find yourself in, it's you that will still have to get yourself out of them."

It was the same principle that led him to sign up for the gym. "If you're not happy about something and you can do something about it, why not do it?" He had said to me as he drove to the gym, his eyes never leaving the road.

Uche getting to the bakery before me was usually a rare occurrence, and that was why I was surprised to see him seated in front of his laptop on the high stool where I would usually look through the orders for the day. Building a website for my cake brand was one of the best things I could have ever done. Not only was it easier for my customers to order from there, it relieved me of the stress of attending to many people trying to order a cake at the same time.

"Who chased you from your house this morning? You didn't go to the gym today?"

"Didn't feel like it," he shrugged, his eyes fixed on my laptop. "You have quite a lot of orders here. There are about fifteen."

"Someone must have ordered overnight," I sighed. "There were fourteen before I went to bed last night."

"You're right. The latest one came in at 1am," he squinted at the a laptop. "It's a cake for... a break-up?"

"A break-up? Who breaks up with a cake? Why do that? Any man who thinks it's okay to break up with a cake must have lost it."

"You never know. There's something called letting someone down slowly. What if the lady likes cakes? Besides, how are you even sure it's a man who ordered it?"

"Because it's only your gender who would do such a thing," I scoffed. "Honestly, after Kasope, I can never underestimate a man's ability to be insensitive when it comes to things like this. How delusional. What is she supposed to do with the cake? Eat it?"

"You're getting paid for this, Tara. That's all that really matters."

"What type of cake does he want?"

"A two-layered red velvet cake of 8 inches each."

"Two layers?" I burst into laughter. "The nerve of him. When is it needed, though?"

"Friday morning."

"Imagine ruining a woman's weekend," I shook my head. "You men can be very weird."

"Taraoluwa, please," Uche rolled his eyes. "How many orders am I delivering this morning?"

"About 6."

"People dey chop cake for this Lagos o. Who are these people? I thought we were all broke," he paused. "But isn't it amazing? Remember when you used to cry that no one was patronizing you?"

"Please don't remind me," I laughed harder.

"You're such a cry baby. Thank God for growth, sha. Just imagine if you agree to this whole UBA thing now, I'll have to be booking appointments to speak to you."

"Now that I think about it, first, I'll try to hire people to help me out. Doing this thing alone for three years hasn't been a joke."

Several times, I would call Uche to come help me out with one thing or the other— whether it was making buttercream, melting chocolates, or handling the mixing while she dressed another cake. We often joked that he could bake a cake if he really wanted to.

"So, does that mean you agree to baking for the branch manager's birthday?"

"No. When did I say that?"

"Tara, come on. According to what Shalom told me, they are getting desperate. It shouldn't be this hard, should it?"

"I have a lot on my plate at the moment, Uche," I thought back to this morning with my mother. "Way too many expectations that I'm not sure I can do much about."

"Fine," he turned away from me. "Just don't think you can call me in the middle of the night to vent about not getting big deals again. I'll ignore you and not feel guilty about it."

"Okay, okay, Uche," I sighed, knowing that the words coming didn't exactly align with my heart. "I'll do it. Will that make you happy?"

He grinned madly. "It will when you do it and we cash out."

✽

Glossary

Last last- Nigerian Pidgin English. Last Last could be translated to 'at the end of the day' or 'eventually'.

People dey chop cake for this Lagos o- Nigerian Pidgin English meaning 'people are eating a lot of cake in Lagos'

Sha- Nigerian slang which can be translated to 'nevertheless'.