“The pot is huge!”
That was my first, utterly stunned thought upon seeing it. Sure, I’d seen the humongous thing on social media, but I’d drastically undersized it in my mind.
Standing face-to-metal with that monster pot, I couldn’t help blurting, “This thing is gigantic!”
I got to the venue by 12 p.m. The event was supposed to start at 9 a.m., and I’d been rushing out of the house, but deep down I knew better.
Nigerians and time? Oil and water.
You schedule an event for 10 a.m., but best believe it’ll start hours later, with guests strolling in even later. It’s our thing, what can I say?
Sure enough, Hilda didn’t fire up the stove until 2 p.m. Yep. That late.
Before then, I strolled around, took pictures, and wandered toward the vendor area. Vendors lined the place like a mini carnival, shouting their offers. One zobo seller cornered me with, “Sister, my zobo is very chilled, you’ll love it.” I raised a brow at the ₦1,000 price tag.
Hmm, I thought. On a normal day, this zobo wouldn’t cost more than ₦500. But I get it: big occasion, different prices.
“Opportunist,” I muttered under my breath, then caved. “Thank you, ma,” she said. “You’ll love it.”
Yeah, yeah, I know.
And she was right, that zobo slapped.
I moved to the main area, and my taste buds yearned for a taste of everything! My nose wandered, but I had to put it in check. I wasn’t going to blow my budget on some “longer-throat” business. Nah.
By 2 p.m., the crowd swelled towards the stage. I guess I wasn’t fast enough because the crowd squeezed me like bread in a nylon, but I needed a glimpse of Hilda, so I flowed with the tide.
Now, I know what you’re thinking, “She’s press. She works for a reputable brand like PulseNG. Why is she getting pushed and squeezed with the crowd?”
Co-ask!
Apparently, my “special” press band was just for fancy.
You couldn’t access the front row without a specific tag around your neck. I tried explaining to the security, but it fell on deaf ears.
Well, I eventually got lucky. Through some connections and a few colleagues I spotted at the venue, I managed to get closer to the main cooking area. I could see Hilda up close and witness everything!
She started with a prayer, then the real work began.
Can we pause for a moment to talk about Nigerians and fashion? People came dressed to impress. The most popular style I saw was baggy Ankara trousers paired with big tops, shirts, strapless tops, and all kinds of cute combinations. I was wearing one myself: a gorgeous yellow two-piece.
Back to the main act. The DJ kept the energy blazing with Amapiano and Afrobeats.
“Go Hilda, go Hilda, go!” the DJ screamed, and the crowd thundered it back.
Hilda moved with calm authority, frying the stew before scooping some out for tasting. Many expected your usual Jollof rice, but no, Hilda put a twist on it. This was Asun rice, and we couldn’t agree more.
After a few hours, the scent wafted through the air. I was drooling. “I must get a taste of this rice”, I thought.
While the stew simmered, Hilda paused to thank the crowd, her voice trembling with emotion.
“We’re not just breaking a record, we’re setting one. I can’t thank God enough, I can’t thank you enough.” She sniffled.
Her fans weren’t the only ones in attendance. Fellow celebrities flocked around to support. We could see Veekee James and her husband in custom Hilda-print.
Enioluwa was clowning about the food not being ready yet, and the crowd erupted in laughter. We all know this boy likes food.
Funke Akindele was present and helped Hilda stir the giant pot of sizzling stew. Even the First Lady of Ogun State, H.E. Mrs. Bamidele Abiodun, made an appearance.
Hilda had the support of Nigerians both at home and abroad. It’s no wonder she felt so overwhelmed with love.
After a while, the stew was ready, and it was time to put in the rice! Hilda and her team worked tirelessly, rounding up about 200 bags of rice (they’d initially planned for 250 but concluded 200 was perfect). They poured it all into that huge pot and kept turning.
I sat through it all.
The huge pot was finally covered and left to simmer. Did we all just wait in silence? Noooo. Nigerians are the life of the party, so you can expect vibing and sing-alongs. And the DJ? That man killed it!
“What’s oblee, what’s oncho, what’s lalalala, are you silly??!”
That popular TikTok sound resonated with the young audience, and the crowd stepped on the accelerator with the vibes! The place turned into a rave!
You’d think that after all that vibing, waiting, recording, dancing, flexing, and nearly brushing elbows with Hilda’s pot, I would eventually get a taste of her Asun Rice.
Well, I didn’t.
The sun began to dip, and the reality of Lagos life kicked in. A mental map of the impending go-slow from Lekki to the mainland flashed in my mind, and I had to choose between rice and sanity. I chose the latter.
With one last, longing look at the giant, simmering pot, I melted away from the crowd and into the evening.
I later heard from my “sources” that the rice wasn’t shared until the next day. They said there was so much left that Hilda was practically begging people to take it home in buckets. Many of us, the early supporters, had already left, leaving a mountain of delicious, record-breaking jollof and not enough mouths to feed.
In the end, what mattered wasn’t just the rice. It was the energy, the support, and the joy of seeing our own make us proud the second time!
So, even without a single grain of that Asun rice, I left feeling full. Full of pride and joy. I was part of something historical, and that fact alone suffices. Hilda Baci threw a party that unified a nation, and I was there on the dance floor.
Big shoutout to our record-breaker, Hilda Baci, for not just breaking a record, but setting another.
We saw you, we felt you, and we are proud.