Praizee Damx. (2025)

02/01/2025

My Ex Boyfriend series

What if I told you I saw My Ex Boyfriend in our family house this festive season?

You know how Christmas and New Year season is always bubbling in family houses? I was in the kitchen, vibing to the song I was listening to with my earphones, when I heard someone say something to someone else. That voice. I identified it like crazy. I looked back, and there he was—My Ex Boyfriend.

At first, I thought I was hallucinating. Maybe the festive food and all the noise were getting to me. But then someone called his name, and that was when I knew it was real. Must this man follow me everywhere I go?

And in our family house, of all places? I immediately went into ninja mode, hiding behind the fridge door and waiting for him to pass. Once I was sure he was out of sight, I continued washing the plates, pretending like nothing had happened. But my brain wouldn’t rest. One of the consequences of having a large extended family is that you can never know everybody. What if he’s my uncle’s cousin’s brother’s nephew’s child? Not my ex-boyfriend o! I told myself.

The more I thought about it, the more unsettled I became. I started asking random people casually, “Ah, do you know that guy in the green T-shirt?” The responses were worse than useless. “I think he came with Chuka’s people,” one aunty said. “Maybe he’s from your uncle’s in-laws’ side,” another offered.

So, here I was, in my family house, where I was supposed to feel safe, now playing hide-and-seek with this man. Every time I saw him, my chest would jump up like I was about to write an exam, and I’d quickly hide behind something—anything. Once, I hid behind a stack of coolers. Another time, I tried to crouch behind my 10-year-old cousin, thinking he’d block me. (Spoiler: he didn’t.)

My luck finally ran out when I bumped into him in the hallway. There was no hiding this time. He saw me Ohhh, he saw me. And guess what? His chest did a little jump too. The way his eyes widened and his mouth hung open for a second, I knew he was just as shocked as I was. I don’t know what got into me, but I couldn’t hide my excitement that he was shocked too.

He started walking towards me, and my brain went into overdrive. Should I run? Should I pretend I didn’t see him? Should I scream and cause a scene? Before I could decide, he was standing right in front of me, and the first thing he said was:

“Dammy, what are you doing here?”

Excuse me? What am I doing here? The nerve of this man 🥴. I folded my arms and gave him a look. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here? Last I checked, you’re not even from this state so how did you end up in our house 🤷🏻.”

Apparently, he was here because his cousin got married to one of my uncles’ distant relatives or something like that. He tried to explain the connection, but honestly, my brain was still stuck on the fact that this man was in my space. I kept thinking, So this is how I’ll be explaining this story to people? Imagine the shame if my relatives find out I once dated someone who might be loosely related to them.

And let me tell you, this man was acting like we didn’t have history. He was standing there, chatting with me like we were old classmates who just bumped into each other at the mall. “How have you been? It’s been a while. You’re looking good.”

Looking good ke? Abeg, who’s looking good? I was wearing an old T-shirt and shorts, with my hair tied up in a scarf because I’d been busy scrubbing pots. If this is what “looking good” meant, then he must have been blind throughout our relationship.

Later that day, I was carrying a bucket of water to the bathroom when I saw him again. My plan was to avoid eye contact and just keep walking. But as fate would have it, my foot slipped on a wet patch, and the bucket tipped over, splashing water all over me.

He rushed over, trying to help me up, but I was too embarrassed to let him. “Don’t worry, I’m fine,” I mumbled, drenched and mortified. He tried to stifle a laugh, but I caught him, and it annoyed me even more. Is this man laughing at my suffering?

Well, not like he ever liked me anyways, I mumbled to myself. I would have laughed too sha if I was the one 😩😂

As if the first incident wasn’t enough, another one happened the next day. I was in the living room, trying to place a bowl on a high shelf. Normally, my brother or cousins would help me with things like this, but they were out So, I climbed onto a stool and stretched as far as I could.

Just as I managed to push the bowl into place, the stool wobbled. My heart almost stopped. I thought, This is how I’ll fall and disgrace myself in front of My Ex Boyfriend. Before I could steady myself, he walked in and saw the whole thing.

“Dammy, come down before you break something,” he said, laughing. I hissed and climbed down, trying to ignore him. But as I walked past him, he added, “You’re still as stubborn as ever.”

To be honest that stood wasn't balanced, but I thought I could do it, and we'll

The worst one happened during the family dinner. You know how Nigerian families can be—plenty of food, loud conversations, and random people popping in and out. I was sitting quietly, minding my own business, when someone asked me to pass a bowl of soup. As I stretched my hand, the bowl slipped, spilling hot soup all over the table.

Why is my body shaking, this man around is really making me loose my awareness 😭😭

Everyone turned to look at me, including My Ex Boyfriend, who was sitting across the room. He tried to hide his laughter, but I could see the smirk on his face. I wanted to disappear.

By the third day, I was so paranoid about bumping into him that I started avoiding common areas altogether. But that didn’t stop the universe from embarrassing me.

I was in my room, trying to relax, when I heard a loud knock on the door. My heart jumped out of my chest. What if it’s him? I thought. I opened the door cautiously, only to find my little cousin standing there with a mischievous grin. Before I could say anything, My Ex Boyfriend walked past in the hallway and saw my reaction. He burst out laughing, holding his stomach like it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen.

“Are you scared of knockouts now?” he teased. I wanted to slap that smirk off his face, but instead, I slammed the door and sat on my bed, fuming.

Now, it’s January 2nd, and he’s still here. I don’t know how to avoid him any more than I already have. Every time I think I’ve succeeded, he pops up somewhere, smiling like he owns the place.

At this point, I’ve resigned myself to fate. If the universe wants me to suffer, I might as well suffer in style. But one thing is for sure: as soon as he leaves, I’m going to sage the entire house. Just in case.

27/12/2024

Ex Boyfriend series

The day this man said “ walk with your hips" keep ringing in my head like those 7:30am assembly bell back in secondary school. I ain't got no ass bro 😂😂, I've g*t nothing to walk with mápámí.

There’s something about My Ex-Boyfriend, that still leaves me wondering what exactly he wanted. This man was the CEO of confused preferences. One day, he’d act like I was everything he ever dreamed of, and the next, he’d say something that would make me question why he even picked me in the first place.

From the beginning, he sold me dreams of being a supportive boyfriend. “Dammy, I love you just the way you are. You’re my babe, and I’ll always be there for you.” But as time went on, I started noticing small, small comments and actions that didn’t add up.

This man could swear he wasn’t into all those baddie girls. He’d tell me, “I don’t need all that flashy lifestyle. I like you simple and natural.” Yet, every other day, he’d subtly try to upgrade me into his idea of a bad-ass woman.

First, it was the nails. “Babe, why don’t you make your nails sometimes? Just small pink or red paint, or that brown paint you did that time. It will bring out your hands.” I did do my nails and it was a disaster. My nails were cute, but I couldn’t even write properly in class. (If you're not someone that fix nails regularly you'll understand how very uncomfortable it can get and how it interferes with how smooth your life goes as long as you have them on 😂😂😂).
I was sitting in lecture, struggling to jot down notes like I was learning to hold a pen for the first time.

So the thing is, I did my nails today my period came the next day. I just couldn't add that level of discomfort to period wahala again, so I removed them that evening.
When I told him, this guy looked at me like I had ruined his 5-year plan, he said “ your body no just calm" 😂😂. “you’ll get used to it Soon. Just try it again.” Get used to what? Being a clown in class? Abeg, I carried my natural nails and faced my academics ( which has also been after my life 😫)

Then came the hair days. I usually like rocking my natural hair or simple styles—something I can manage by myself. But no, that wasn’t good enough for My Ex-Boyfriend. “Dammy, you’d look so good with long braids or wigs. Imagine 30 inches—guys won’t be able to take their eyes off you.”

First of all, who are these “guys,” and why should I care? Secondly, he wasn’t contributing to these hairstyles o. Not for the attachment( I hate picking attachment 😩), not for the wig ( would you help revamp, straighten or recoil or get maintenance?), and definitely not for the hours of sitting down to make braids.

One day, I decided to try long braids just to shut him up. By the time I was done sitting for 8 hours at the salon, I was already regretting my life choices. And let me not start on the pain of loosening those braids by myself because I couldn’t ask him for help. When I finally told him I wouldn’t do long hair again, he said, “Babe, you’re limiting yourself. You’re too fine to be playing small.”

Excuse me, sir. Am I playing small or am I saving my edges from permanent damage?

The most annoying part was how he pretended to be the most supportive boyfriend. Anytime I mentioned my struggles, he’d act like he was 100% behind me. “You’re so smart, Dammy. You’ll go far in life.” Meanwhile, when it came down to the actual support, this guy was as reliable as NEPA light during the rainy season.

The worst part of the relationship was how he made me feel about myself. He’d always talk about how much he loved me, but his actions said otherwise. Anytime we were around curvier girls, he’d get this look in his eyes, like he was studying them for a science experiment.

He’d never say anything outright, but he’d over-compliment them in a way that made me feel small. “Wow, that girl’s confidence is on another level. See as she carries herself.” “ she looks very fit", What was I supposed to do with that information? Start walking like I’m on a runway?

And let me not forget the time he casually said, “Babe, if you ever add small weight, ehn, you’ll be unstoppable.” Add weight? Is that what’s stopping me from greatness? I started looking at food differently, wondering if I should be eating more or less. It was like being with him came with an unspoken weight requirement.

Why Did He Even Pick Me?

The part that gets me till today is why he even picked me if I wasn’t what he wanted. It’s one thing to love someone and want them to grow, but My Ex-Boyfriend didn’t want me to grow—he wanted me to transform. He wanted nails, long hair, curvy body, bad-ass attitude, the whole package. But instead of finding someone who already had all that, he chose me and tried to mold me into his confused preference.

Moving On

Now that we’re no longer together, I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders—literally and figuratively. I’ve gone back to my simple life: natural nails, low-maintenance hair, and eating whatever I like without thinking about “adding weight.”

Sometimes, I catch myself laughing at the things I used to put up with.
Honestly, I’ve learned my lesson. Next time, if a guy says he loves me “just the way I am,” I’m going to ask him to define exactly what that means. Because My Ex-Boyfriend? He didn’t know what he wanted, but one thing’s for sure—I’m not anyone’s makeover project.

Can you relate to my story?
Have you experienced this before?
Have you done this to your woman before?
If yes, why?

25/12/2024

My Ex Boyfriend series

The Road Trip Disaster

When Tolu suggested a weekend road trip to Calabar( I have never been to calabar aside my imaginations from Ali and simbi story book), I was excited. It had been a while since I took a proper break, and I trusted Tolu’s planning skills. She had this knack for organizing things and making them memorable. So, when she sent the group chat itinerary and added, “Guys, this trip go loud,” I didn’t even think twice before agreeing.

But I should have asked questions. If I had known my ex-boyfriend would be on the trip, I would have stayed home and enjoyed my weekend with Korean movies and shawarma.

I didn’t even notice he was part of the group until the morning we g*thered at the park to leave. I was busy adjusting my sunglasses when I heard that unmistakable voice behind me.
“Dammy, long time. How far?”

I froze. My grip on my small travel bag tightened as I turned around. And there he was, standing with his ever-annoying smirk, looking like he didn’t once ghost me without explanation. I managed a tight smile .
“I’m fine.”

I turned away quickly, hoping that would be the end of it. But when Tolu came over, she made things worse.
“Dammy, don’t tell me you forgot o. Your ex is coming along too. I didn’t think it would be a big deal, na. Abi?”

I wanted to scream. Tolu was my guy, but sometimes, she could be so clueless. I wasn’t about to let my ex ruin my trip, though. So, I shook it off and climbed into the van, determined to ignore him.

That plan lasted all of two hours.

The first problem started when the driver’s aux cord stopped working, and everyone started taking turns playing music from their phones. Of course, my ex-boyfriend decided to play his playlist—a mix of all the songs we used to vibe to when we were together. You know those kinds of songs that make your chest tight because they hold too many memories? Yeah, those ones.

Tolu and the others were nodding their heads, vibing to the music, but I couldn’t stand it. I put on my AirPods and pretended to sleep, but my ex being my ex, he leaned over and whispered, “You remember this song, abi?”

Yanyanyanyanyanyayayan( I muttered in my mind)
I ignored him.

The second problem started when the van broke down. We were in the middle of nowhere, on a dusty road, with no mechanic in sight. Everyone got out of the van, fanning themselves in the heat and trying to figure out what to do next. My ex, of course, decided to take charge.

“Let me see if I can help,” he said, rolling up his sleeves like some Nollywood hero.

I stood aside, arms crossed, as he fiddled with the engine. After about 15 minutes of trial and error, the driver sighed and muttered, “Oga, abeg leave am. You no sabi this work.”

Everyone burst out laughing 😂, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. My ex shot me a look and smirked.
“You still find me funny, sha.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not you that’s funny. It’s the situation.”

But the peak of the drama came when it started raining. Yes, rain. In the middle of dry season, rain decided to fall. And of course, none of us brought umbrellas because who expects rain on a December road trip?

We all huddled under the nearest shelter, which was basically an abandoned shed, trying to stay dry. I stood at one corner, determined to keep my distance from him. But as luck would have it, the others decided to leave me with him while they ran back to the van to grab food.

“So, Dammy,” he started, leaning against the wall. “How come we never talked after… you know?”

I glared at him. “You mean after you disappeared without an explanation?”

He sighed dramatically, like he was the victim here. “I had my reasons.”

I folded my arms. “Good for you. I’m not interested in hearing them.”

The rain kept pouring, and the awkward silence grew heavier. Finally, he said, “Look, I know I messed up, but maybe this trip is our chance to… you know, fix things.”

I blinked at him. Fix things? This man really thought life was a Korean movie where people reconcile in the rain. I shook my head and walked out into the rain. I didn’t care if I got wet. I just needed to get away from him.

The others came back shortly after, laughing and eating snacks, oblivious to the tension between us. As we climbed back into the van, I caught my ex glancing at me.

Now, I’m sitting here, pretending to read while the van speeds toward Calabar. But my mind is racing. What does he mean by “fix things”? Should I confront him properly or just keep ignoring him? One thing is certain: this road trip has turned into something I wasn’t prepared for, and I have no idea what the next move will be.

I want to get my own camping Van 😩

24/12/2024

Christmas Without My Ex-Boyfriend

I won’t lie; this Christmas feels weird. Not bad, not good—just weird. It’s not even about the breakup anymore. I’ve cried, journaled, and blocked him on WhatsApp 😒, so that chapter is closed. But as I sit here, struggling to pin fairy lights to the top of my window, I can’t help but hiss out loud🤦🏻. If we were still together, my ex-boyfriend would have done this part. He was tall, unnecessarily so, and would’ve reached up without breaking a sweat.

But now, it’s just me, balancing on a shaky chair I borrowed from my neighbor, trying to secure the lights with tape that doesn’t even want to hold😫. One wrong move, and I’m sure I’ll tumble down like one of those failed circus acts on TikTok😂😂. “Dammy, you can do this,” I mutter to myself. Because, let’s be honest, what other choice do I have? I'm 5'4 btw.

This whole solo Christmas project is about proving a point—to myself, not him. I’m self-sufficient, and I can handle anything. Even fairy lights 😌. But when I finally get them up and plug them in, only half of them light up😩🤦🏻😂😂, can you imagine . I just sit on my bed, staring at them like, “Wow, even the lights are mocking me.” 🤕

The plans we made together keep playing in my head. We were supposed to have a picnic first. I’d already picked the spot—under that big mango tree behind the Faculty of Arts. We planned to pack jollof rice, chicken, and Chapman, and he’d promised to bring suya. We talked about how we’d snap pictures and laugh at anyone who stared too long.

But look at me now, staring at a picnic basket I bought myself, wondering if I should even bother. The basket is cute, though—white with red ribbons. It looks like it belongs in a Christmas movie. I laugh because, let’s be honest, this is not the vibe I imagined.

Then there’s the orphanage visit we planned. We didn’t buy anything together, of course. It was all talk. “Dammy, let’s get them cool stuff like storybooks and toys,” he’d said, smiling like he actually cared. But now that it’s just me, I’ve been buying the gifts one by one. Nothing fancy—some snacks, a few toys, and even storybooks, because I’m stubborn like that.

The worst part of this whole thing is how I feel in moments like these—trying to push through but feeling the weight of doing everything alone. Yesterday, I tried carrying the new bucket of paint into my room to repaint the walls. I tripped on the edge of the door and almost spilled everything 🥴🥴. I sat on the floor for ten minutes, just staring at the mess like, “This guy has ruined my life small.”😭😂😂

But then, I remembered the pep talk I gave myself last week: “Dammy, we move!” And move, I did. I cleaned up the paint, repainted the walls, and even sprayed air freshener like I was celebrating.

And don’t even get me started on the final plan. On Christmas Day, we were supposed to binge-watch Christmas movies in my room, just the two of us. He’d already made me promise we’d start with “Home Alone,” even though I told him I preferred romantic comedies. “Dammy, that’s why you need me,” he’d said, laughing. “You have no taste.”

Now, it’s just me and my laptop. I’ve decided I’ll still watch “Home Alone.” Not for him, but for myself. I even bought meat pies and made Chapman because, as I’ve told myself repeatedly, this Christmas is about ticking off all the plans. Once I do everything we planned, there’ll be no more “what could have been.”

Still, moments catch me off guard. Like when I was hanging my clothes on the line earlier today, and the wind almost blew my wrapper away😭🥴😂😂😂, he hated the fact that I liked wrappers, i mean wrapper is my comfort cloth 😂😂. I stood there struggling, thinking, “If this boy was here now, he’d be laughing and snapping pictures to mock me later.”

But here’s the thing: as much as it stings sometimes, there’s something liberating about this whole process. I’m learning that I don’t need anyone to complete me. If I fall, I’ll get back up. If the lights don’t work, I’ll find a way. If I feel silly eating suya and drinking Chapman on Christmas Day alone, I’ll laugh through it and keep going.

So, this Christmas, it’s just me, Dammy, the self-sufficient little girl who doesn’t need a tall ex-boyfriend to reach the top shelf or hold a paint bucket. I’ll carry my picnic basket to the mango tree, enjoy my jollof rice, and take selfies. I’ll visit the orphanage with my small gifts, and I’ll spend Christmas night watching “Home Alone” with my meat pies.

Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that I am enough. And if you happen to see me snapping pictures in the garden or laughing too loud while watching my movie, just know I’m doing it for me. My ex-boyfriend can keep his confused energy and his main character syndrome. This Christmas, the vibe is mine, and I’m owning it.

Do you also do things like this, or you just leave it to what we could have been??

20/12/2024

My Ex Boyfriend series

For someone that has an issue with vulnerability, I cried bitterly knowing I don’t want to ever get this vulnerable again. Can’t we just find our persons, be happy with each other without any level of vulnerability so that if things go awry, it’s easy to let go? I said to myself, walking aimlessly out of the street I found myself.

It was 2:00 a.m., the streets were silent, and everything felt like a bad dream I couldn’t wake up from. No sounds except the shuffle of my slippers on the tarred road and my muffled sobs. Even the streetlights seemed dim, as if they couldn’t be bothered with someone like me.

I didn’t know where I was going; I just kept walking. The tears were hot on my face, but the cool breeze wiped them off before they could reach my chin. At least the night understood me. The kind of understanding that doesn’t need questions or explanations—just silence.

Before I knew it, I was standing at the riverbank. The river was wide and dark, stretching endlessly into the night. The water moved lazily, almost as if it didn’t have anywhere urgent to go. I sank to the ground, letting my legs dangle close to the edge.

As I sat there, my chest felt like someone had tied it with a tight rope. I couldn’t even breathe properly. The tears kept coming, falling freely now, dripping into the river one by one. The sound of each tear hitting the water was almost too loud for the silence around me.

I buried my face in my hands, trying to stop the sobs, but they just turned into that silent cry where your whole body shakes. I didn’t know how long I stayed like that, but then I heard it—a soft splash.

I froze. My heart started beating fast. At first, I thought it was my imagination, but then I heard it again, louder this time. I looked up, squinting at the water, and my heart nearly jumped out of my chest.

There, rising out of the river, was a man. At least, the upper part of him looked like a man. His skin gleamed under the moonlight, water dripping from his shoulders, and his dark, slick hair clung to his face. But then I saw his tail—a shimmering, silver-blue tail that flicked lazily in the water.

I gasped and scrambled back a little, my hands grabbing fistfuls of grass. “Who… who are you?” I stammered, my voice shaking.

I could feel the rush of blood through my body!

He tilted his head, studying me. His eyes—deep and piercing—felt like they could see into my soul. “The better question is, why are you crying here by yourself?”

I swallowed hard, my heart still racing. “This… this can’t be real. I must be hallucinating.”

He smiled faintly, a knowing kind of smile. “I’m as real as the tears you’ve been pouring into this river.”

I didn’t know whether to run or stay. My legs refused to move anyway. “What… what do you want?”

“Nothing,” he said simply, his voice calm, soothing even. “I came because your tears carried something heavy—tight chest, broken heart. The waters called me instead of a woman because the pain you carry… it came from a man.”

I blinked, too stunned to speak. My chest tightened even more.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, swimming closer, his tail creating soft ripples in the water.

“No,” I said quickly, shaking my head. “I’m fine.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced, but he didn’t push. “Alright,” he said after a moment. “Let me tell you a story instead.”

I didn’t respond, but I didn’t stop him either.

“There was a woman,” he began, his voice soft yet steady. “She was bright, kind, full of life. She loved deeply—maybe too deeply—for someone who wouldn't look at her twice.

“She met a man who seemed cool at first. He said all the right things, made her believe he cared. But his actions… they always told a different story. He would promise to prioritize her but somehow always let her down. She was constantly caught between hope and disappointment, wondering if she was asking for too much or if he just wasn’t capable of giving more.”
Wondering if he intentionally ignored the obvious, or genuinely wasn't seeing it.

He paused, his gaze distant, like he was watching the story play out in his mind.

“She stayed, though,” he continued. “She stayed because she wanted to believe in him, in the idea of them. But over time, she began to see the cracks. The mixed signals, the way he never truly showed up for her. She realized she was giving her all to someone who wasn’t willing—or able—to do the same.

“When she finally left, it wasn’t because she stopped loving him. It was because she realized she had to love herself more. But the hurt… the hurt stayed with her for a long time. She carried it like a scar, a reminder of what she endured.”

I stared at him, my throat tight, my chest heaving with silent sobs. His words hit too close to home, each one like a knife cutting through the walls I had tried so hard to build around my pain.

I wept bitterly, then I whispered in a barely audible voice

“Why are you telling me this?”

He turned to me, his gaze piercing yet gentle. “Because that story came from your tears.”

I froze, my breath hitching. “What?”

He smiled faintly, his eyes unreadable. “Your pain carries memories, truths you might not even want to admit to yourself. The water reads them, and I… I just give them a voice.”

I stared at him, my mind spinning. How could he know?

“Who are you?” I asked, my voice shaky.

He tilted his head, a small smirk playing on his lips. “A friend. That’s all you need to know for now.”

Before I could say anything else, he pushed off the riverbank and disappeared into the water with a graceful dive, leaving nothing but ripples behind.

I sat there for a long time, staring at the spot where he’d been. His words echoed in my mind, unraveling everything I thought I had buried.

As the first light of dawn began to creep across the horizon, I stood up, brushing the grass off my clothes. My chest still felt heavy, but there was something else now—a tiny flicker of understanding, like maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t as alone as I thought.

Walking back to the street, I kept replaying his last words. “That story came from your tears.” How did he know? And who—what—was he, really?

Do the rivers really care?

Would you have spoken to the merman of you were the one?
How do you handle your heartbreak, do you just go sit down at the bank of the river helplessly like I did?

18/12/2024

My Ex Boyfriend series

The Cooking Competition Catastrophe

It all started with one innocent message from Tolu in the group chat:
"Who dey free this Saturday? My cousin’s cooking competition needs contestants. Just for fun o."

( Na tolu dey start everything)

I was about to type “Not me abeg,” when my phone rang.
Tolu.

“Dammy, please na. It’s not serious at all. Just vibes and a small cash prize.”

Before I could protest, she added, “Plus, I signed you up already. It’s you and… uh, someone else.”

“Who be the someone else?” I asked, suspicious.

“You’ll find out on Saturday.”

Saturday morning, I showed up at the event center reluctantly. I was already regretting my decision because, let’s be honest, I can cook well, but I don’t like cooking. Stress! I was muttering to myself, adjusting my apron when I turned and saw him—my ex-boyfriend.

I froze. He was grinning like a child who just found free food.
“Dammy. You’re here for this too?”

My heart dropped. “You’re my partner, abi?”

He smiled wider. “Looks like it. God is truly wonderful.”

I wanted to vanish. You see, cooking was his thing. My ex-boyfriend enjoyed cooking like it was a sport. He used to spend hours perfecting recipes, watching cooking shows, and even once had a frying pan delivered as a birthday gift. So this? This competition? It was his element.

Me? I just wanted to go home.

The competition rules were simple: prepare a three-course meal—starter, main course, and dessert—in two hours. Teams were allowed to “collaborate”.

“Collaborate” turned out to mean him telling me what to do.

“Chop the onions finely,” he said, already dicing tomatoes with speed.

I stared at him. “Am I your sous chef?”

He chuckled. “Dammy, abeg. No time for seniority battle. You know I like my onions tiny.”

“You like everything tiny, except wahala,” I muttered, grabbing the knife.

I started chopping, aggressively. He took a peek at my work and winced.
“Are you slicing or doing trial and error?”

“You can chop it yourself if it’s paining you,” I shot back.

He sighed dramatically, took over, and started slicing onions with the precision of a surgeon. The crowd watching from the sidelines started murmuring. Clearly, my ex was giving “star chef” energy. I decided to step aside and focus on mixing the pepper sauce.

The real drama started with the main course.

“We’re making jollof rice,” he announced, like he was Gordon Ramsay.

“Na jollof everybody dey make. Let’s do coconut rice instead,” I said.

“Coconut rice ke? This is a competition, Dammy.”

“And?”

“And—” He stopped. “Fine. Let’s do your coconut rice. But if we lose, you’ll tell everyone it was your idea.”

“Deal.”

We started prepping. I handled the coconut cream while he focused on the seasoning. Everything was going fine until I turned around and saw him tasting the rice. Directly from the spoon.

“Did you just put that spoon back inside?” I yelled.

He looked guilty. “It’s my mouth, not poison.”

“Your mouth is the problem!” I hissed. “Don’t spoil the whole food for us.”

“Relax. Nobody will know.”

“But I know!”

The audience clearly caught the argument because someone in the crowd shouted, “Chef and sous-chef, focus abeg!”

For the dessert, we planned to make pancakes. Easy, right? Wrong.

My ex was flipping the pancakes with too much enthusiasm. He wanted to show off, of course. So, on the third flip, the pancake flew—high, too high—and landed on the judge’s table.

The crowd gasped. I stared at him, horrified.

“Wow. Nice aim,” I said sarcastically.

He scratched his head. “At least they got to taste it fresh.”

By the time the timer ran out, our table looked decent. The coconut rice smelled amazing (even if it was partly contaminated), and the pancakes, though fewer, were golden. My ex-boyfriend was all smiles, acting like the stress didn’t faze him. Meanwhile, I was sweating under my wig and sending silent curses to Tolu for signing me up.

When the judges came to our table, I stood quietly, hands behind my back, while my ex did the talking.

“Our starter is a simple vegetable stir-fry, paired with homemade coconut rice for the main course. Dessert is pancakes—soft and fluffy.”

The head judge raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. Who did what?”

My ex pointed at me. “She handled the coconut rice.”

I glared at him. “And who tasted it with the same spoon?”

The judge looked confused. “Same spoon?”

I smiled sweetly. “No problem, sir. Taste it first.”

The audience started laughing, and my ex shot me a look that screamed “you’re not serious.”

The competition ended, but the results weren’t announced immediately. As we packed up, my ex leaned closer and whispered, “Admit it. You had fun.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fun, ko. Stress, ni. If I win anything, I’m collecting the money.”

“You mean we are collecting it.”

I ignored him, grabbed my bag, and started walking toward the exit. He followed behind, humming like we were besties again.

“Dammy,” he called as we got outside.

“What?”

He smiled. “Next Saturday, cooking class. My house. What do you think?”

I stared at him, half-annoyed, half-amused. “Your house? For what?”

“To prepare for the next competition, of course. You’ll be my sous-chef again.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Was this guy serious?

As I watched him walk off, still humming, I shook my head. Cooking class? In his house?

this man hasn't left Dreamland yet!

Praizee Damx.

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