THE JOURNEY FOR AFRICAN MASQUERADES, page 2 of chapter 3

by World Schoolface on October 15, 2025

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Page 2 of chapter 3

Back inside, she unpacked her clothes with clinical precision, hung them neatly in the wardrobe, then freshened up in the sleek, glass-panelled bathroom. After skimming the hotel directory, she picked up the receiver.
Phone Conversation:
Janet: Hello, this is Janet in Room 406. I seem to be missing a TV remote, and I’d appreciate an air freshener as well.
Attendant: Good evening, Miss Janet! I’ll send both up immediately. Just to confirm—a remote control and an air freshener?
Janet: Yes, that’s right. Thank you.
Attendant: My pleasure. May I assist you with anything else?
Janet: Actually, could you check if the minibar’s stocked? I’m feeling a bit peckish.
Attendant: Certainly. Any specific cravings?
Janet: Something light—crisps, perhaps. I’ll take whatever’s available.
Attendant: Understood. I’ll be with you shortly.
Janet: Much appreciated.
Moments later, a gentle knock sounded at the door.
“Who’s there?” Janet asked, easing the door open.
“It’s the attendant,” came the cheerful reply.
She welcomed the woman with a smile and accepted the items.
“Thank you so much,” she said graciously.
“You’re welcome. The crisps are on their way. Would you care to add anything? We have sausages, grilled meat, chicken, and a range of drinks.”
Janet’s eyes lit up. “What varieties of chicken do you serve?”
The attendant, evidently delighted by the question, began her list like a culinary poet.
“We’ve got fried chicken—crisp on the outside, tender within. Grilled chicken—smoky and spice-marinated. Baked chicken, and our special BBQ chicken coated in a tangy-sweet glaze.”
“The BBQ sounds tempting,” Janet replied. “How exactly is it prepared?”
“It’s first grilled or baked, then lathered in a rich barbecue sauce. We’ve got variants—sweet, spicy, or a bit of both. It's a favourite with our international guests.”
“Say no more,” Janet smiled. “I’ll have the BBQ chicken with chips—and a glass of champagne, if available.”
“Of course. It’ll be up shortly.”
Moments later, the knock returned. Her order arrived—succulent chicken, crisp golden chips, and a chilled flute of champagne. The aroma alone was intoxicating.
“This is divine,” she said, genuinely impressed.
“You’re very welcome,” the attendant replied with a bow before disappearing into the corridor.
Janet ate slowly, savouring each flavour, then set an early alarm and drew the blackout curtains shut. Though the city roared beyond the windows, her exhaustion silenced it. She slipped beneath the crisp hotel sheets, her eyelids fluttering shut.
Tomorrow, her immersion into the sacred rhythms of the Yoruba masquerade festival would commence.
Festival Morning.
By 6:30a.m., Janet was up, showered, and casually dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt. She slung her camera bag over her shoulder and stepped outside into the coastal morning.
Before heading to the festival, she wandered down to the beach behind the hotel. The ocean lapped gently at the shore—each wave a whispered invitation. The sun was beginning its slow ascent, casting soft golden hues across the white sand. A cool breeze played with her braids, and the rustling palms above lent a gentle, sacred hush to the morning.
She closed her eyes and breathed in the serenity. The tranquillity, the distant cries of gulls, the rhythmic kiss of water upon the shore—grounded her completely, as if time itself had momentarily paused for her contemplation.