Chapter 2: "The Cult of Free Jollof"
After being escorted out of the engagement party with my dignity leaking like a sachet water, I did what any hungry, hopeless man would do—I followed a flyer that said:
"Free food, free t-shirt, spiritual awakening. All are welcome."
Free food? I didn't even finish the last jollof. Spiritual awakening? Sure, why not—my spirit was unemployed too.
So I showed up to this "event" held in an abandoned warehouse. Everyone wore the same white t-shirt with "FEED THE FIRE WITHIN" printed in Comic Sans.
Red flag? Maybe.
But I was too focused on the buffet table. The jollof smelled like it was cooked by angels who moonlight as caterers.
Just as I piled my plate, a woman with glowing eyes and a voice like Beyoncé possessed by a prophet said:
"Brother Kelvin, step forward. The Flame has chosen you."
Chosen? Me? Again?
Long story short: I spent the next 3 hours chanting in tongues I made up, holding a candle shaped like a goat, and accidentally agreeing to donate my "first harvest."
I thought it meant corn.
It meant salary.
WHICH I STILL DON'T HAVE.