Chapter 1—My mouth is on fire
The Case of the Spicy Suya and the Confused Camel
Adaeze was bored. Her data was low, her generator was coughing like an old man, and the latest Nollywood movie on TV was a rerun. With a sigh, she opened her Instagram DMs, a modern-day portal to the world. That’s when she saw it: a follow request from a guy with a dazzling white thobe and a smile that could power a small village. His name was Khalid.
“Khalid from Riyadh,” she muttered. “Okay, let’s see what’s up.”
Their first conversation was a masterpiece of modern linguistics, powered by Google Translate and sheer optimism.
Khalid: As-salamu alaykum. You profile is very… shining. Adaeze:Wa alaikum salaam!😂 Thank you oh! Your own is not shining, it’s on fire. Khalid:Fire? 🔥 Why fire? Is problem?
Adaeze giggled. This was going to be fun.
They started talking every day. Khalid’s English was a unique dialect, a special blend of broken grammar, misplaced words, and emojis that often told a completely different story.
One day, Adaeze was eating a plate of delicious, spicy suya—skewered meat coated in yaji pepper and groundnuts.
Adaeze: Just dey chop my life with this suya. My mouth is on fire but I can’t stop! 🔥
Khalid read the message. His eyes widened. Fire? He remembered this word. It was bad. She was in danger! He frantically typed back.
Khalid: No! Do not worry! I am come! I have camel! Adaeze:Camel? For where? You wan use camel bring water for my mouth? 🤣
Khalid, in a heroic panic, was trying to say “I have a car” (“I have camel” being his translator’s bizarre interpretation). He was already mentally mapping a route from Riyadh to Lagos to rescue her from this culinary inferno.
The biggest confusion came on a Friday. Adaeze, feeling playful, sent a voice note.
“Khalid! See me see trouble oh! My aunty just said I must come to the village next week. I don’t have shishi for transport. Na to trek go be that.”
There was a long pause. Khalid listened to the voice note five times. He heard the distress in her voice. He understood “must come,” “village,” and “trek.” The rest was a melodic mystery. He concluded his dear friend was being forced to walk to a village. This was an injustice!
He immediately opened a money transfer app. His brow furrowed in concentration. What was that word she used? The thing she said she didn’t have? Shee-shee.
A few minutes later, Adaeze’s phone dinged. It was a notification from Khalid: Transaction Sent.
Bewildered, she opened it. The message read: “For your Shishi. Please do not trek. It is not safe. Take a camel.”
The amount sent was 50,000 Nigerian Naira. A small fortune.
Adaeze’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “50k?! For shishi?! Yeeeh! This guy has confused himself!”
She quickly video-called him, her heart pounding. Khalid answered, looking very pleased with his heroic deed.
“Khalid!” Adaeze yelled, half-laughing, half-hyperventilating. “Omo, wetin be this? Why you send me money for shishi?”
Khalid smiled warmly. “You say you no get shishi. So I give you. Now you can go village. No trekking.”
Adaeze finally understood. She burst into uncontrollable laughter, tears streaming down her face.
“Khalid! My guy! My brother in Islam… shishi means money! It means I don’t have money! I was complaining! I wasn’t… ah! You don’t send 50k because person say ‘I no get shishi’! Na to tell you say ‘sorry’ or ‘God will provide’!”
Khalid blinked, processing the information. His proud hero-face slowly melted into one of utter confusion. “Shishi… is money? But… it sounds like…” He made a waving gesture, the international sign for “so-so,” or in his mind, something insignificant.
“Yes! Na slang! Ah, Khalid, you try well well. Thank you, but abeg no send money again when you no understand! You go become boneless before I finish explaining!”
From that day on, their conversations included a new rule: a five-minute delay for Google Translate consultations and a strict “no sending money for slang words” policy. Khalid eventually learned that “I’m coming” didn’t mean Adaeze was physically en route to Saudi Arabia, and Adaeze learned that when Khalid said “Insha’Allah, tomorrow,” it was the Arab equivalent of the Nigerian “I’m on my way,” which could mean anything from five minutes to five hours.
They were a perfect match, lost in translation, but found in laughter. And Khalid never, ever looked at a camel the same way again.
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With Love Ammi HI (✯◡✯) ❤️🔥🤌
