Zikoko arrives at a remote village deep in southwestern Nigeria. The guide, who refused to go beyond the seventh footpath, pointed to a thick palm grove and said, “If you hear your name, don’t answer. Just keep walking.”
After navigating the narrow path, Zikoko arrives at a clearing. A battered aluminium pot simmers over an open flame. The air smells of heated oil and spiced beans. A sudden gust of wind blows out the lantern. Then suddenly, a voice.
Akara: You came alone?
Zikoko (startled): Who… who said that?
Akara: Answer the question.
Zikoko: Yes. I—
Akara: You were not followed?
Zikoko: No.
Akara: Good. I don’t like distractions. Especially not at this hour.
Zikoko (still confused): Akara?
(A perfectly round, golden brown ball bobs in the oil, then levitates gently onto the stool. It has eyes. A mouth. And is somehow chewing something.)
Akara: Yes, it’s me. You asked for an interview, didn’t you? So sit down and be quick about it. My oil doesn’t stay hot forever.
Zikoko: Thank you for agreeing to speak with us.
Akara: Point of correction, I didn’t agree. I summoned you. You’ve been whispering my name online. Now hear my truth.
Zikoko: Right. So, that means you’re aware that you’ve been trending recently?
Akara (scoffs): Of course. You people finally realise I’m not ordinary, and now you can’t shut up. Talking about “akara sellers don’t sleep”, “you must be fortified”, “they only sell at night.” Are you just discovering that I’m spiritual royalty?
Zikoko: So… is it true? That no one can enter the akara business without spiritual backup?
Akara: Let me ask you something. Do you know what it means to fry beans in 8 p.m. darkness? Balance hot oil on a charcoal stove? Do you think it’s beans to stand in front of fire day after day, untouched? You can’t sell me if your aura is dirty. You’ll burn. That is not ordinary strength. That is calling.
Zikoko: So you’re saying it’s not everyone that can fry akara?
Akara: Not everybody should, and not everybody can. I don’t call everybody. Some of you are just frying air. No taste, no crunch, no jena-say-qua.
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Zikoko: But it’s just bean paste—
Akara (cuts in angrily): Just? See this one. Did your ancestors not tell you I was used to welcome twins? That I sit beside pap as king and not a side? Let me catch you calling me “just” anything again.
Zikoko: Sorry. I didn’t mean—
Akara: Don’t vex me. My people know themselves. You think it’s beans to start frying me on a random street and suddenly, cars start stopping, bankers start queuing and nobody complains about the price? There’s power involved. Spiritually balanced people only.
Zikoko: So you admit there’s a spiritual element?
Akara: I’ve been telling you since. Did you come here with your ears in your pocket? Anyway, you people keep putting me with the spineless lots of puff puff, buns and dundun. Please, listen and listen well: We are not the same. Who carries this country’s less privileged on a day by day basis? Me. Who feeds the deceased even when they’re long gone? Me.
Zikoko: I see. So, are you worried that your recent fame might attract unserious people who want to bust your myth?
Akara: Let them try it. Let them try it and see if their eyebrows won’t go up in smoke. You’ll know the ones I didn’t call — hot oil will reject them. The fire will embarrass them. The beans will not bond.
Zikoko: Wow.
Akara: Let me not even start on the people who try to fry me with an air fryer. Or the ones that use an electric cooker. *spit*
Zikoko: Some people online also said you’ve been spotted at spiritual rivers and shrines.
Akara: I ask again. Did you come here with your ears in your pockets? Have you not been following what I’ve been saying?
Zikoko: But—
Akara: Anyway, let me just answer so you people won’t say I’m proud. The truth is, you people think greatness is cheap. Every real akara seller knows what I demand — discipline, early rising, sacrifice. You want to make it, but can’t even grind beans overnight? Please, go and bake a cake.
Akara (glancing at the sunless sky): This interview is over. The wind is shifting.
Zikoko: Wait, just one last question—
Akara: I said it is over! If they like, let them keep saying it’s just beans and oil. I’ll be here… watching. Waiting. For everyone who thinks they can enter my business without blood, sweat, and spirit — I dey wait una for junction.
(A sharp gust of wind blows. The frying pot disappears. In its place, only the faint scent of onions and firewood remains.)
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