Happiness: A Piece of Cake

Efuru woke up feeling energetic and cheerful. Her fiftieth birthday was in a few days and she had a lot to be thankful for: A long, successful career at “33” Export Lager Beer; solid friendships that spanned three decades; near-perfect health except for her astigmatism—which she preferred to deny by ignoring her glasses, and being child and husband free despite family and societal pressures. She was content with her life, and that was all that mattered.

Donning her silk bathrobe, Efuru sashayed to the kitchen, humming “33” Export Lager Beer’s new jingle. There, she set about making coffee and, while waiting for the water to boil, placed a call to her party planner to confirm final arrangements. Her best friend Sade thought her supervision of the DJ’s playlist was extreme, but Efuru would rather drop dead than have those vacuous, auto-tuned songs most radio stations favoured play at her party. As far as she was concerned, the current crop of musicians were the pits.

“The drinks, Ma,” reminded the planner. “Have you confirmed how many cartons of “33” Export Lager Beer you have left?”

Between overseeing the opening of the new production plant last week and hosting the recently concluded week-long departmental meeting, Efuru had barely had time to breathe let alone count the cartons of “33” Export Lager Beer in her store. She could have asked her new gateman Andrew to do it, but the last time she sent him in there, he carted away with several bottles of soft drinks.

“I’m going to check now now,” Efuru said. And just as she was about to hang up, she remembered another request, a new one. “Laila? Laila?” … “I also want a friendship song or two on the list, so have the DJ send at least five for me to select.” … “Thanks.”

When Efuru hung up, she took the store key then went out through the back door. Because the corridor was slippery from last night’s rain, she trod cautiously, watching out for wet tiles. Unlocking the store, Efuru flipped on the lights and began counting the stacked cartons of “33” Export Lager Beer. Satisfied, she locked the door and was retracing her steps to the kitchen when she spotted Andrew spreading his laundry on the hedges.

That’s all she remembered: yelling at Andrew then slipping.

The next time Efuru opened her eyes, she was in a hospital bed, with a worried Sade hovering over her. Her head throbbed like a nightclub and her left leg hurt just as bad. The doctor would inform her later that she’d sustained a concussion and a fractured ankle.   

“How are you?” asked Sade, her voice low and full of concern.

They were in a private ward. The fluorescent light pierced Efuru’s eyes, forcing her to close them briefly.

“Efuru? Efuru? Are you ok?”

“There are eight.” Her voice was strained.

Sade’s brows creased with confusion. “Eight what?”

“Eight cartons of “33” Export Lager Beer.”

“Efuru, what are you saying?”

This time Efuru blinked several times, struggling to make sense of her surroundings.

“Where am I?”

“The Friendship Hospital. Your gateman called me after you fell and wouldn’t get up.” Her expression relaxed with a smile. “He was scared you’d died.”

“He better be because all this is his fault,” Efuru said drily then winced in pain. “Ouch.”

“Sorry.”

“How long have I been here?”

“A day and a half.”

Just then, there was a soft knock on the door. The doctor had come to check up on Efuru, and left her with disappointing news.

“Blood clot, too. So I’m spending my fiftieth birthday in a hospital?” Efuru lamented after the doctor had shut the door. “This is an abomination. Where’s my phone?” She looked defeated.

“I’m not sure you have one anymore. It hasn’t come on since the accident.”

Efuru closed her eyes. “Mtchew. I have to call Laila to cancel the party and email invitees to inform them.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll do that for you. Meanwhile, I brought you ukwa.” Sade lifted a food flask covered with the words ‘Love & Friendship’ written in tiny prints.

“Thanks. I’ll eat later.”

The friends talked for a while, with Efuru mostly complaining about postponing her party. And when she started dozing off, Sade took it as her cue to leave.

It was late morning when Efuru awoke the next day. The weather was in direct contradiction to her dour mood. There was a get-well-soon card and a bouquet of flowers on her bedside table, both from yesterday. She smiled as she read the kind words by her colleagues at “33” Export Lager Beer. Then, as carefully as she could manage, she reached for the breakfast tray, gently placing it on her laps. After eating one chicken sandwich and drinking half of the orange juice, she decided she had had enough. Sade’s food flask was still where she’d left it yesterday, prompting Efuru to ponder the rationale behind plying invalids with food if they were either too sick or distracted by pain to eat. She was no closer to an answer when her room door burst open, ushering in a host of familiar, happy faces.

“Happy birthday to you, Efuru,” they chanted. “Happy birthday to you.” Then Sade cued the contingent with a hearty “hip, hip, hip.”

Efuru was in tears when their hoorays hit the roof. Most of her friends were present, and those who weren’t were on their way. Laila had arranged to move the party to the hospital at Sade’s request. In a corner, the DJ was setting up her equipment, and before long Efua Souza was singing Sweet Friendship over laughter and goodwill messages.

“You’re friendship personified, Sade,” reiterated Efuru after blowing out the candles on her cake.

“I love you, too.” She grinned. “Now shut up and make a wish.”

This story was written in conformity with 33 Export Beer's friendship competition guidelines. 

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