At the beginning, A single clap of thunder roars, despite the clear blue sky. The camera zooms in dramatically as I burst through the front door in slow motion, both slippers flying to different directions by sheer willpower, the other lost to the gods of domestic chaos.
I’m breathless, Disoriented and what again....Traumatized.
Why? Because I just realized—I LEFT THE POT ON THE STOVE.
Flashback to how it all started. Me, an hour earlier, I declared boldly that “Today, I shall multitask! and there is no second option, I must do it” With the grace of a Yoruba auntie and the ambition of a motivational speaker, so I decided to cook, clean, wash clothes, send emails, and solve world peace ,all before noon. In my mind, I even planned to bake cake
And back to the present. My pot of rice smell like a sacrificial offering gosne wrong. The kitchen is filled with smoke thicker than a village meeting argument and almost catch fire. I throw the windows open with the urgency of a possessed woman seeking for for deliverance, off the stove and rushed back outside for fresh air because I almost choke. My neighbors stare at me with one kind look, fanning themselves with wrappers, whispering, telling themselves "she wants to burn the house down, it's not like she knows how much building the house cost, not like she have build one before”
Suddenly, dramatic music play and my phone rings. It’s my friend calling. I forgot I was supposed to submit my CV for the opening job, she called to tell me that she has submitted her own and I did not remember all this whole time and it's closing in the next 15 minutes. I rushed back inside and dive for the laptop, I don't even remember the smoke again, I just wanted to submit the CV before the closing period. Immediately I clicked submit ....
Then, Nollywood magic kicks in.
A pigeon flies in from nowhere, don’t ask questions, and lands on the stove. The smoke detector, clearly overworked and underpaid, gives up and falls off the ceiling, My Wi-Fi cuts out and I scream. My ancestors weep because I don't know what will happen to the CV I submitted.
But like any true Nollywood heroine, I rise from the ashes (literally). I fan the smoke away, scoop half a spoon of rice (extra crispy, of course), and tell myself, “We move.”
I walk out in slow motion, Beyoncé-style, holding a plastic plate of near-burnt jollof rice like it’s a Grammy. End credits roll. Title: "The tale of Madam Multitask."
The lesson learnt. Never trust your memory, rice, and CV at the same time. One will surely always betray you. Starring: 
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