I think it was on Facebook I first read someone write that if you must cry in this life, try to make sure you’re crying in a Range Rover and not a Keke Maruwa. I know this is good advice because I saw it play out during my awkward date. 

You see, there’s something strangely appealing about mysterious people. I suspect it might have something to do with how our brains are wired to perceive scarcity. We take things at our disposal for granted and yearn for the ones out of our reach. And that’s exactly what happened with this fella. I’ll call him O.

O was in my DMs in 2018 asking to be my friend. Of course, I turned him down because isn’t it creepy if anyone has to ask to be friends with you? I like to think that true friendships happen organically. I let him down gently, though, so we kept things chill in each other’s comment sections — until his activities on social media began to dwindle.

Before long, I caught myself always looking out for his opinions on Facebook stories. Then I’d always find a reason to go into his DM and check up on him. One day it dawned on me: “That’s it, Damola. You have a crush on this guy.”

I didn’t start living in Lagos as an independent adult until September 2021. In April of that year, I’d hopped into the city to attend an event and have a good time with my friends. Just two days before I was to return to Ado-Ekiti where I lived with my grandparents, I finally mustered the courage to ask my O out. Whoosh.

O agreed to the date immediately (green flag, yay!), and I spent the rest of that evening delirious with happiness. My How-I-Met-Your-Father story was coming together nicely — or was it?

First, I found it a bit off that he didn’t offer his number since we were supposed to conclude on the day, time, and precise location we’d be meeting. I’d thought it was basic common sense to have each other’s numbers if we were to hang out together, especially at a location I wasn’t familiar with. Because I feared coming across as being too forward, I also didn’t ask for his number either, nor did I give him mine. I’d been super excited and he seemed… meh, so I began to reconcile myself with the fact that I might need to adjust my expectations regarding our date.

Eventually, we agreed to meet at Ofada Boy in Surulere by 2 p.m. that Sunday. But even though he’d  chosen the place and time, I arrived that day and had to sit by myself for a full twenty minutes alone, with nary a heads-up or explanation from him. 

At first I was too preoccupied taking in the restaurant’s ambience to be bothered by O’s tardiness. The minimalist wooden furniture pieces, murals, raffia blinds, and local crockery set the perfect make-yourself-feel-at-home vibe. Until that day, I’d only ever seen earthenware dishes in Nollywood movies, and they were always used to dish food sacrificed to the gods. It was a refreshing change to see African cultural relics put to non-fetish, everyday use.

After a while, though, I got bored and finally braced myself to face the hard truth: Damola, you have just been stood up by a date whose phone number you do not even have. I doubt I will  ever feel as foolish as I did that day.

You’d think the fact that O eventually showed up thirty minutes later would make things much better, but no. He waltzed in looking, from his dressing and gait, like he’d just sleepwalked from his house next door.  With every passing moment, I became more convinced that asking him out was probably a bad idea. So I focused on food for comfort. 

I’m not much of a food enthusiast, and large food options overwhelm me, so it was a little difficult to choose anything on the restaurant’s menu. But choosing to order more than just strawberry daiquiri to drown my disappointment turned out to be my one good decision about the date, because when my order of Ofada rice and sauce eventually arrived? My goodness! 

It’s funny how every time I remember this awkward date, the first thing that comes to my mind is the sauce, not the guy who almost ruined the experience. The Ofada sauce had that unique bleached palm oil flavour, much like how my grandmother made it. The grilled chicken was tender and delicious, but I left it untouched at the restaurant because with a small portion of the rice, some plantains, egg, and beef cuts in the soup, I had barely any space in my stomach for it. I had to request the rest be packed for me. 

I’ve always criticised the restaurant-focused dating culture in Nigeria because I think it is mostly a lazy choice. There are many other things adults can do together in public that don’t involve chewing self-consciously in front of a total stranger. But for this particular date, I doubt that I could have made a better choice. Suggesting Ofada Boy was the one thing my date did right by me. As for the rest, I was too engrossed in my food to care. 

Now, every time any of my friends talk about planning to take someone out on a first date at a restaurant, I tell them to visit Ofada Boy and order some palm wine along with their meal. If the date goes well, double luck. If not, at least they would have enjoyed a memorable gourmet experience.