Let me start by saying this: I am not a bad cook. I’m just… creative. I like to try new things. Sometimes they work. Sometimes they nearly burn the house down. This is a story of the second kind.
It all started one Saturday morning. The birds were singing, the sun was shining, and my stomach was crying. I was hungry—very hungry. The type of hunger that makes you hear sounds in your stomach like a live band rehearsal.
I walked into the kitchen like a champion. My fridge was empty, as usual. But when I checked the corner of the kitchen, I saw one egg sitting there in its lonely glory. It was like it was waiting for me.
I smiled. “Today, you will be scrambled,” I told the egg.
Now here’s the problem. I had no cooking oil.
None.
Not even one drop.
The Brilliant Idea
I checked the cupboard. Empty. I checked the shelf. Empty. I even shook my oil bottle like a mad scientist, hoping for a miracle. Nothing came out.
That’s when the devil whispered in my ear, “You know, engine oil also looks like cooking oil.”
Wait. Wait. Let me explain!
I live with my uncle, and he has a small bottle of engine oil he keeps in the corner for his motorbike. It looked clean, dark, and shiny. My stomach growled again.
“Oil is oil,” I told myself.
I grabbed the engine oil, poured a little into the frying pan, and placed it on the stove. I cracked the egg, dropped it in the pan, and stood back like a chef in a fancy restaurant.
Sssshhhsssssss!!!
The sound was glorious. The egg sizzled like it was enjoying life. It smelled... okay, not bad. A little funny, but I told myself it was just the “new style.”
I even whistled as I flipped the egg.
“Gordon Ramsay, be afraid,” I said proudly.
The Smoke Alarm
Then things changed.
First, smoke started rising. Not small smoke. This one was like cloud factory. My kitchen turned grey. My eyes began to water. My nose shouted, “What is this?!”
Then the smell hit me. It was not normal egg smell. It was like a mix of burnt tire and disappointment. The egg turned black. Like charcoal. Like the soul of someone who eats jollof without stew.
I started coughing.
“Ei, what have I done?”
I quickly turned off the stove, opened all the windows, and ran out of the kitchen like a thief. I stood outside, holding the frying pan, with one burnt egg inside, looking like a crime scene.
Neighbour Wahala
That’s when my neighbour, Aunty Cecilia, walked by. She sniffed the air and shouted, “What’s burning? Is there a fire?”
I tried to hide the pan behind me.
She saw the smoke and said, “Hey! This boy wants to kill us!”
She rushed to call my uncle.
Uncle Kojo came running, holding a bucket of water. He saw me holding the pan and stopped.
“What’s going on here?” he asked.
I didn’t know what to say.
“I was… I was just cooking.”
“With what? Gunpowder?!”
He looked into the pan and screamed, “Why does this egg smell like motor accident?!”
Then he looked at the corner.
“Wait… did you use engine oil?”
I said nothing.
He put his hands on his head like he was trying to hold his brain inside.
“This boy has cooked egg with Mobil oil!”
The Lecture
For the next one hour, my uncle gave me a lecture that felt longer than JHS to SHS.
“Do you know engine oil is not food?” he asked.
“I know,” I said quietly.
“So why did you use it?”
“I was hungry.”
“Will hunger also make you drink petrol? Or eat battery?”
I didn’t answer. At that point, I was already regretting my life.
He called all the neighbours.
“This boy tried to fry egg with engine oil!” he announced.
People came to look. They pointed. They laughed. One small boy even tried to take a picture with the burnt egg like it was a celebrity.
Aunty Cecilia said, “You’re lucky you didn’t explode the whole house. Next time use sense.”
I nodded. My pride had died a painful death.
Aftermath
For one full week, every time I walked outside, people would whisper, “That’s the engine oil chef.”
Even the security man asked me if I had new recipes.
My friends came to visit, and one of them brought me a bottle of cooking oil as a gift.
“Use this before you try to poison yourself,” he said.
I threw the burnt egg away. But somehow, the smell stayed in the kitchen for days. Every time I walked in, it was like the ghost of the egg was still haunting me.
Even now, I can’t look at eggs the same way again.
What I Learned
So here’s what I learned from that day:
Engine oil is not for food.
Hunger can make you think stupid things.
Always check if you have cooking oil before you crack an egg.
Don’t live with an uncle who knows your full story and will tell everyone in the compound.
And finally, if your stomach growls, don’t answer with madness. Just eat bread.
Or drink water.
Or go and beg your neighbour for help.
Because once you fry egg with engine oil, you’ll never be the same again.
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