Punching Out Adverbs and Adjectives #2

Original Story


I had gone out to get breakfast, koko (a meal like custard with a grey color) and akara (bean cakes) but got caught up in a wet surprise.
         Well, the storm gives me a moment of pause and an opportunity to be a camera for my assignment. So I turn on my brain camera, adjust my lens and... ACTION!
         The palmwine joint or bar which is my refuge in this time of storm is painted skyblue on the outside, gloss it appears to be. The part where I stand is an extension of the joint and is roofed with zinc. On the right side is a canteen, with an extension similar to the one I just described. (Actually, all the shops on this block have structures of this kind set up, probably by their current owners.) The leftside of the bar housed a softdrink depot.
         The paintings of these adjoining buildings had peeled beyond recognition. It could have been anything between blue and dove-grey.
         The canteen has an unpainted table in its extension which is crowded with large, brown coolers, these contain the 'orisirisi' (assorted delicacies) offered at the diner. The madam of the food joint is dressed in 'Ankara' blouse and wrapper and has just the perfect physique befitting a food seller. The entire block is overwhelmed by the aroma of her assorted African dishes I would have considered it a taboo if my mouth was not watering already.
         I shift my lens a complete 180 degrees and zoom in on the depot. I give the proprietor who is also a lady a close up: She is in her mid-40s and fair in complexion especially when compared with the food seller who is deep chocolate brown. She has the body of a model and speaks fluent Yoruba, she has an assistant, a man in his mid-30s, he is wearing a blue red-striped shirt on a faded blue denim and is seated on a bench 'toying' with his handset, a Sonyericsson 750i model. A quickscan of the store reveals crates of Coca-Cola products in their dozens.
         My lenses move again, this time outward. Directly opposite my refuge is an 'Okada' (motorcycle) garage now besieged by a deluge. The riders are no where to be found and the motorbikes all drenched by the African thunderstorm bear the semblance of deserted companions.
         The rain stops as suddenly as it had begun. Now I have two choices: sit and wait out the flood which came with the rain and risk losing my koko and akara to fellow customers or wade the waters... I decided I'd take the plunge. My koko is worth all that and more.



Final Draft

It is 7am. I am on my way to get breakfast. Koko and akara (bean cake) is my addiction. Koko is grey and has the texture of custard with a twist of ginger.
While akara looks like (note: not taste like) a fat cookie made of ground beans and fried in vegetable oil.

My quest takes me through dusty streets. Soon I am on a broad street paved with asphalt. Vehicles whoosh past me, residents heading to their offices. The breeze is cool as it caresses my skin easing the discomfort caused by the sunlight. A few minutes into my journey I am scuttling for shelter from a storm that interupts my reverie. It appears I may be taking breakfast late yet I perceive an opening offered by circumstance. This situation is what I need for my 'I Am A Camera' assignment.

First, I switch on my brain camera and... Action!

My shelter is the annex of a bar that sells palmwine. The bar is not yet open for business at this time. A calligraphy done in red and blue sits above the doors announcing the joint's business to the public. The wind blows water in my direction so I move farther inside. The pounding of rain on the roof molds an image of kids flinging hundreds of pebbles on a zinc plate.

The outer walls of the bar wear a skyblue paint. It is flanked on the right by a canteen, on its leftside is a soft drink depot. Both of these are owned by women enterpreneurs.

The shops duplicate the extension of the palmwine parlor. Though their walls beg for new paint. The previous paint having being rubbed off by weather.

The annex of the canteen has a platform cluttered with coolers of diverse sizes all in shades of brown. The contents are orisirisi Yoruba dishes, exotic delicacies that could revive any appetite. Each time the food-seller would lift the lid off a cooler to serve a customer and incite an experience. The atmosphere is overwhelmed by the odor of spicy obe ata (yoruba stew), and the mouth-watering efo ati egusi (vegetables cooked with melon). I fantasize on the softness of the amala (broth), and it makes my fingers tingle at the tip. I wish I am one of the customers. But I do make a mental note to revisit this place soon.

To my left stands the depot. Crates of coca cola stacked high into a 12 x 10m room. The lady in charge stands outside chatting with a man, who appears to be her assistant, while he fiddles with a SonyEricsson.

The rain stops. The flood flows on. I have to decide if I wait for dry land to appear or get my koko while I still can. You bet, 'get my koko' it is!