The Wheatbaker

“I think a lap is an illusion,” Ejurewa said, with gusto.

“What?!” Kevwe replied, with a bizzaro look of confusion etched upon her face. “Explain.”

“Think about it. When you’re seated, it’s there and when you’re standing, it’s nowhere to be found. So…it never was,” Ejurewa explained in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Where the hell do you get this stuff?” Kevwe asked.

“Gilmore Girls of course.” (Gilmore Girls is a TV show just so you know).

“Of course. Silly me,” Kevwe smirked sarcastically, shaking her head.

Ejurewa threw her head back and laughed. She was seated at the edge of her Tempurpedic bed, feet dangling, struggling to steady herself whilst she guffawed. Meanwhile, Kevwe was rummaging in the bottom drawer of the mahogany cupboard where Ejurewas’ shoes are kept. After a few minutes, she emerged with a pair of raven-coloured strappy sandals that Kevwe had bought at Balogun market two months prior.

Ejurewa had gone silent, staring down at her limp, listless feet. Her tongue was halfway out her mouth to the side and her brow was furrowed in intense concentration. A couple of times a day, she tried to wriggle her toes. It always ends up being a heartbreaking, poignant moment when nothing happens. A lonely tear dripped down Ejurewas’ left cheek. She quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand. Kevwe noticed though. “It happened again, didn’t it?” she enquired; her voice dripping with empathy.

Ejurewa nodded slowly. “Don’t worry hun. All in God’s time,” Kevwe stooped down to hug her patient, who was more friend than anything else. Ejurewa nestled her head in the crook of her carers’ neck, fully sinking into the hug.

They extricated themselves after a while. “So what’s on tap for today?” Kevwe asked, bending down to slip the sandals on Ejurewas’ feet. Ejurewa placed each hand on Kevwes’ corresponding shoulders. “We are going to the spa at the Wheatbaker hotel in Ikoyi,” Ejurewa replied in a high pitched, sing-song voice.

“Oh yeah! Minister of Enjoyment ehen!” Kevwe joked, while gingerly slipping on Ejurewas’ shoes onto her slender, dainty feet. Ejurewa giggled. Kevwe strolled over to the corner of the room where the bright orange manual wheelchair was parked. She unhooked the brakes and wheeled it over to Ejurewa, placing it at a 45 degree angle to her patients’ body.

“Ready?” Kevwe asked.

“Ready!” Ejurewa replied.

Kevwe steadied herself, and lifted Ejurewa in one swift, fluid movement; gently plopping her down on the wheelchair cushion. “Alright sis. Time to go.” Kevwe held open the doors as Ejurewa manuevered her way through the crooks and turns of the lower level of their residence.

The front door opened. “Christian! Christian!” Kevwe bellowed. The gateman sauntered over. “Could you please get the ramp from under the stairs? Thank you so much.” Christian put the ramp on the steps outside, adjusting till it was perfectly aligned. Ejurewa whizzed down the slope and did a sharp turn, wheeling over to the passenger door of the midnight Toyota Camry.

Transfer board at the ready, Ejurewa slid into the car. Obed, the driver, started the car and blasted the A/C. Since it was a Sunday, there was no traffic. The roads were clear, the sun was out and the skies were blue.  Ejurewa took out her prescription sunglasses from the case found at the bottom of her backpack and put them on.

“Why don’t we put on the radio?” Obed asked, focused on the road ahead. The first few bars of ‘Beautiful People’ by Ed Sheeran sounded out. Ejurewa turned up the volume, pursed her lips with attitude and nodded her head along to the syncopated beat. Kevwe smiled and shut her eyes for a power nap, allowing the music to wash over her.

Ten minutes later, they were at the Wheatbaker. The radio was turned off and the automobile was put in neutral. Kevwe stepped out and got out the wheelchair from the trunk of the Camry. She assembled it with ease and guided EJ out of the car.

With her buttocks planted firmly in the seat, she asked, “Where’s the entrance?” Kevwe did a quick look-see and pointed towards the glass double doors. Walking ahead, she pulled open the doors and tripped. She looked down, trying to figure out what the obstacle was. Two mini train tracks ran along the bottom, parallel to the doors.

“Hold up, we have a problem. We’ve got to find a more level way in.”

Ejurewa responded. “Alright. Obed, you better come with us in case more hiccups come up in our travels to the spa.” Kevwe looked around for some help and saw a young man standing not too far away. “Excuse me sir, could you help us please?” An ebony-skinned 20 something year old walked up to Kevwe.

“How can I help you Ma’am?” he said, with a grin

“Yes, (quickly glancing at his name tag) Charles, could you please point us towards a more level entrance so my wheelchair girl can roll smoothly through?”

“Of course Madam. Right away,” he said, leading them to a separate entrance to the Wheatbaker dining room. “Let me escort you all the way to the lift,” Charles said. “Why thank you kind sir,” Ejurewa said bemusingly, touched by his kind gesture.

They silently moved towards the elevator. “Hold up. I see a ramp up ahead. Get ready to push,” Ejurewa said to Kevwe, preparing her for the task ahead. A couple of minutes later, they were on the spa floor.

All of sudden, there was a screech as Ejurewa tapped the brakes. Kevwe was momentarily confused but quickly wised up. In front of them, another obstacle reared its ugly head in the form of two separate flights of steps; three leading down and the other set of three leading up to the spa door. Which meant Ejurewa had to be lifted in the wheelchair twice.

“Obed, it’s a good thing you’re here. Let’s proceed with our task, shall we?” Kevwe stated with relief and gratitude. Obed stood at the back of the wheelchair, Kevwe to the front. “On my count. 1…2…3,” Ejurewa instructed firmly. In two swift movements, they were at the spa entrance.

They approached the glass doors. The lobby was perfectly decorated, a true atmosphere of serenity and calmness. The smell of lavender wafted in the air. In the corner, there were rows of desert sand-coloured, leather massage chairs set up for manicures and pedicures. The side tables had crystal vases of red roses. It was practically heaven on earth.

“Excuse me Madam, I have an appointment for a one hour Swedish massage in five minutes,” Ejurewa said softly to the receptionist. “Alright, let me check you in,” she replied, with a sweet smile. She flipped the page of a notebook and scribbled some things down. “Would you like some cucumber water while you wait?”

The sound of trickling water and a xylophone played softly over the speakers instantly transporting one to a land where relaxation was everything.

“So before you go in, what do you think of the Wheatbaker?” Kevwe asked.

“Well, I’m going to give it two stars out of five. The main entrance isn’t level, the ramp leading to the lift was too steep and the flights of steps made the spa completely inaccessible. If I didn’t have both of you, I would be totally screwed,” Ejurewa explained.

As she finished her sentence, a petite Philipino masseuse emerged from the birchwood double doors. “We’re ready for you, Ma’am.”