Dictates Of The Heart. Excerpts from Dictates of the Heart by Chinyere Obinna O.,

Warning: The book Dictates of the Heart is copyrighted material. No portion of Dictates of the Heart may be reprinted, distributed or disseminated without my permission written permission. Chinyere Obinna.


Chapter 2



MAMA FRANCA’S KIOSK

The metropolis of Enugu was beginning to make the usual transition towards dusk, bustling with activities, with people returning home from offices, shops, and the markets after another hectic day of enterprise. The street hawkers were beginning to come out, lured by the promise of a cool evening breeze, spreading their colorful wares on the side of the streets, calling out to passers by and motorists in sing-song voices,
Maltex, buy my ice cold delicious Maltex™.”
“Oranges, look at these ripe and succulent oranges.”
Suya, who will buy my Suya?”
The distant call of the street vendors reminded Adora of the steady gnaw of hunger that she had tried to ignore all afternoon; she had raided the fridge earlier, and only came up with fresh fruit salad. She was tired of fresh fruit. Clara was still at the market, and dinner would not be served till eight.
The roman numerals on her watch indicated that it was four twelve p.m. Almost four hours to wait for a home cooked meal. The thought propelled her to her feet, and she grabbed her white straw hat and dashed out of her room, and down the back staircase that led to the kitchen. Her sandals on the parquet covered stairs clattered noisily and echoed across the silent house.
She stopped briefly at the foyer as she caught a glimpse of her reflection on the ornate gilt-framed mirror that hung near the entrance door. Her face stared back at her, exquisite, an almost flawlessly perfect oval framed by a cascade of dark wavy hair that grazed her bare shoulder blades, forming a stark contrast to her copper colored skin, which gleamed almost translucent in the softly waning sunlight that filtered through the window shades. Deep set, almost leonine eyes, framed by a fan of lush dark lashes underneath high arched eyebrows lent her face an almost feline grace, balanced by high, regal cheekbones and lips that straddled a fine line between sensuously seductive and perkily innocent.
. Her eyes showed a bit of puffiness from lack of sleep and the tension that had settled inside her, coiling up in the pit of her stomach like a venomous snake ready to strike, forcing her to confront the unease that she had tried to conceal, even to herself about the fact that each moment that passed by spun her dangerously closer to the day that filled her with dread, the day that she would depart from the protective enclave of home and face an uncertain future. Would she fall on her face and return home a complete failure. Would she ever meet up with her father’s high expectations of her?
Frowning, she flicked off an unruly lock of jet-black hair from her face with an impatient finger; it sprang back to her face like a coil of tightly wound up black silk cord, falling over one half of her face as she ran out the door, past the driveway, and towards the entrance gate that guarded her family estate. She waved at the gate man, who sat motionless at his post, nodding before an open magazine.
Adora rattled at the gate and the startled gate man rubbed at his tired eyes and peered at her over the magazine, frowning.
“Where are you going at this time?” he asked gruffly, trying unsuccessfully to sound alert.
“Nowhere far. Don’t sleep too deep,” she threw over her shoulders.
“Sleep?’ he responded in a voice that smacked of defensiveness. “No sleep for these eyes for the next six hour at least. My shift ends at ten.”
He swung the large, ornate iron gates open, and Adora passed through.
“I’m going to Mama Franca’s. Do you want me to bring you something?”
“Oh, no, I just ate,” he stated, rubbing his stomach, which was bulging slightly under the loose drape of his dashiki.

At the end of Park Lane Road, tucked in a cul-de-sac, stood a wooden kiosk, painted garishly green, with a hand written sign hanging from the wall, proclaiming the phrase, “MAMA FRANCA’S GARDEN OF EDEN, in large letters, and in smaller letters, “the best food in your life.” The front awning of the kiosk was decked out with gaily-colored streamers. The sounds of African highlife blared from the interior, underscoring the most delectable aroma of mingled dishes that wafted out from the kiosk.
Without hesitation, Adora walked through the narrow entrance and stood on line behind a young boy in khaki shorts. A rotund, yellow-skinned woman in her late forties stood behind the counter, sweating profusely and ladling white rice and plantains onto a plastic bowl. She added chicken stew and handed the dish to the boy, who chewed his lower lip and shoved his hands deep into his pocket.
“Fifteen Naira”, she informed him in a loud voice that matched the yellow colored synthetic blouse that stuck to her ample bosom and competed with her bright yellow complexion.
“I have t,t,t,twelve mama F,F,F,Franca,” the boy stammered hesitantly, shifting from foot to foot.
“Then pay me the rest tomorrow, underless, I won’t serve you again.”
“T,Thank you mama Franca,” the boy stuttered.
He grabbed the paper bag from the counter and dashed out of the kiosk, running smack into a stray dog, which wagged a mangy expectant tail and endured a swift kick at the ribs. The dog let out a yelp and jumped away, running into the path of an oncoming car, which careened towards the unpaved road shoulder, amidst a shrill shriek of brakes and a swirl of dust. The dog ran across the street and the boy threw a rock at it.
“One day, I will reeport that bad greedy boy to his mother,” mama Franca complained loudly to no one in particular, as she lifted the till and hid away the bulk of her money under a flat plastic board in the drawer.
Adora chuckled to herself at the quaint way that mama Franca manipulated the English language. Equipped only with a primary four education, mama Franca had managed to build a flourishing business out of her love for cooking. Her canteen had been a fixture in the neighborhood as long as Adora could remember, and was Adora’s regular haunt along with other kids from her school, who would throng into the kiosk after school and spend all their pocket money gorging themselves on mama Franca’s delectable delicacies. Over the years, nothing had changed about Mama Franca’s cooking, and Adora often found herself wandering into the canteen on those evenings when the hunger pangs gnawed at her stomach and she couldn’t wait for the housekeeper to return from the market.
Mama Franca turned around from the till and saw Adora. Her eyes danced with merriment as she roared in her high decibel voice.
“Hey! Look who here today. Why you no come regular my dear?”
“No particular reas-- - just a bit busy,” Adora responded, looking around at the colorful lanterns that hung suspended from the canteen’s low-slung ceiling. Her eyes wandered to the hand scrawled chalkboard menu riddled with spelling errors hanging on the wall behind the till and she skimmed through the specials.
TODAY SPESIAL
‘Rise and steu with plantens. Goat, foul or beef extra.
Rise and bins with plantens and fish. Goat, foul or beef extra
Very dilishos mai-mai with steu or rise and fish.
Dilishos pepper soup with goat meat or fresh fish. Spesial
prize.
Seek and you shall find. If you don’t see it on the menu riqest for it.
Mama Franca’s eyes followed the direction of Adora’s eyes and she smiled.
“What you want today?”
“Let me see, you have banana fritters?”
“No my dear, no faritas today. What about Akara? They fresh. I just finish a batch.”
“Sounds good,” Adora said, sniffing the pungent air appreciatively.
“What else you want?” mama Franca goaded her.
“Only akara today thank you ma.”
“Only?” Mama Franca exclaimed in a loud voice that filled the small space. She glanced at Adora’s slim figure, clucked her tongue, and wagged a fat finger at her.
“My dear, I can’t remember the last time l looked like this. Maybe never. Anyway, you no go add weight, in fact, you need more meat if you ask me.”
“I’m not that hungry, just wanted to patronize you a bit.”
Thas right my dear,” Mama Franca exclaimed in her mixed up English.
“Now you talking. You need to come more often. Mama Franca cook the best of everything. Better than those fancy restaurants in town.”
She bustled about and hummed a tune as she packed Adora’s food.
“I hear say you get scholarship. That is good my daughter. You smart girl.”
Adora’s eyes widened slightly in surprise as she accepted the food wrapped neatly in a small brown paper bag. “Mama Franca, how did you know about this?”
Mama Franca’s eyes danced merrily and she chuckled as she bustled around the tiny space.
“My daughter, good news is like pregnancy. You can keep it hidden for a while but the belly will tell the story.”
“So whose mouth is the belly?” Adora was on the verge of asking, but she hesitated as Mama Franca turned her attention to a fresh group of customers, three young men in business attire who thronged into the small space, and crowded around Adora. Although they were not directly in her line of vision Adora, could feel their lusty eyes drilling a hole through her clothes. Ignoring them, she held her head high and waited for Mama Franca to ring up her order
One of the men planted himself besides Adora and eyed her boldly, grinning broadly from ear to ear. He opened his mouth but snapped it shut as Mama Franca‘s strident voice rang out, cutting across the room like a whip.
“Are you here to feast your eyes or is it your belly?”
Mama Franca’s brusqueness suggested that she brooked no nonsense, customer, or no customer.
The man’s mouth grew slack and his eyes grew round. He swallowed hard and kept staring at Adora, who paid mama Franca and made a hasty retreat, thankful for the woman’s aggressive interjection. The three men stepped aside to let her through, but their eyes followed her.
“You want today’s special or should I get you something else?” she heard Mama Franca say.
The sounds of the men’s voices followed her as she stumbled out of the canteen.
“Wow! That girl, she’s so pretty,” she heard one say, followed by Mama Franca’s harsh voice.
“When you ready to order, let me know.

Dictates of the Heart.... This book is copyrighted material. No portion may be copied or distributed without written permision

Comments

Anonymous said…
This is really good. Where is the rest of it. When is the release date?
Anonymous said…
Wow. This is really great.
Anonymous said…
This is really exciting. Is this a complete book. I want to know where i can find it.
Anonymous said…
Wow, what great storytelling skills. I can't wait to see the rest of it.
Anonymous said…
Your ability to weave a story is spellbinding. Please keep it up..
Anonymous said…
I want Dictates of the Heart Now. Please give me more.
Anonymous said…
What are you waiting for? I want to know the rest of this story.
Anonymous said…
My, my, what a spell you cast on me. Keep this up.
Anonymous said…
My, my, what a spell you cast on me. Please keep this up..

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