Dayo’s Detty December Diaries
Memoirs of a Lagos Baker – surviving Lagos’ busiest cake season and still enjoying the fun nights.
If you’ve lived in Lagos in the past four or five years, you know the city doesn’t wait until December to start misbehaving. It starts early. Lagos enters pre-Detty mode by mid-November. And for bakers like us, things start to get crazy.
In mid-November, our inbox suddenly woke up. We started with:
Pastries for school Christmas concerts, teachers’ gifts, class parties, PTA packs.
Different schools ordering “just 60 cupcakes” each. Then the corporate orders for end-of-year parties, complete with logos and corporate branding.
At first, it felt exciting, but it quickly became overwhelming.
Morayo looked at the spreadsheet one morning and groaned, “Dayo… these orders are doubling every day. This period is already looking busier than last year.”
Cynthia shook her head. “People go crazy before December even begins.”
I smiled, although I was getting worried. “Don’t worry ladies, as long as we don’t run out of ingredients, and we stay organised, we can do it!”
I proceeded to order a ton more butter, flour, sugar and fondant.
By the first week of December, our calendar was packed with bookings from morning till night. Our ovens running nonstop. Mixer permanently humming like a generator.
I posted on Instagram: “We are fully booked for December. Thank you for your love!”
But Lagosians don’t hear “fully booked.” They hear “apply pressure.”
People started responding with:
“Hi sis, please it’s just a simple cake.”
“Please help me, my usual lady disappointed me.”
“I need 100 cupcakes by tomorrow, God bless you.”
“It’s for my mother-in-law, she will forgive me if the cake is nice.”
Let me tell you something: No one begs like a Lagos person who needs cake on short notice.
December 2nd, my phone rang at barely 7.00am. Cynthia and I were just sending out our first batch of orders with Mohammed.
“Good morning, ma!” A woman’s voice bursting with panic. “Please, I need a traditional engagement cake for this weekend.”
I rolled my eyes. “As in four days from now?”
“Yes ma! Just small cake. With beads. And one calabash.”
Cynthia mouthed: Small how?
Morayo was clearly exasperated by yet another last-minute request. She glanced over at our order board, assessing whether we could possibly squeeze in one more cake.
“Ma,” I asked carefully, “do you have a colour theme?”
“Gold and red. And peach. Because each family has colours.”
I took a deep breath. “Excuse me ma…”
“We need it urgently please. I’m ready to pay in full now now.”
I looked at Morayo. She nodded and gave me a thumbs-up.
So we accepted. And we delivered just in time.
By the second week of December, our shop resembled a battlefield.
Cupcakes cooling on every surface. Fondant flowers lined up like soldiers. Boxes everywhere. The fridge was full. The table was full. My brain was full.
Mohammed, our delivery driver, barged in sweating. It was only 9.45am.
“Madam,” he sighed, leaning on the doorframe, “the road no get joy. From Yaba to Lekki, na full traffic jam, and there was even one man proposing in the middle of Third Mainland Bridge.”
I blinked. “Did she say yes?”
He grinned. “She said yes, but LASTMA carried the car.”
We all burst into laughter.
The next moment, another email order.
Then I got a call.
“Hi, this is Bode. FGC Abeokuta Class of 2005.”
“Good afternoon, sir.”
“We want a cake for our 20th anniversary reunion on the 21st. It should look like our old assembly hall, with the bell and the steps. And the banner that says ‘Still Standing Strong.’”
I paused.
“Sir, that’s one week away.”
“We trust you,” he said confidently.
“I didn’t go to your school.”
“But you have the spirit!”
Behind me, Cynthia collapsed into laughter.
Morayo whispered, “Spirit of hypertension.”
Still, December had dissolved my ability to say no.
“Okay sir. We’ll do it.”
That afternoon, I did something I’d never done before. I called for reinforcements.
Toyin, a baker friend who ran Sugar & Crumbs in Surulere, answered my distress call.
“Don’t worry Dayo. I’ll be there,” she said. “I’m bringing my mixer.”
By the next morning, our kitchen sounded like an orchestra of whirring blenders, clattering trays, and Afrobeats. At one point, Cynthia was piping roses while dancing. Toyin was rolling fondant like it owed her money. Morayo was sculpting the edible bell for the reunion cake and singing Davido’s “Unavailable.” And me? I was running on adrenaline and buttercream fumes, everywhere at once, mixing, rolling, fixing, answering calls.
Then the IJGBs arrived.
They walked in wearing all-white linen and dark sunglasses inside. Skin glowing like they moisturised with melted gold.
“Hi!” the woman beamed. “We just flew in last night; business class, gosh the flight was long; and everyone said you are the best baker in Lagos.”
Everyone? Who are these people?
The fiancé nodded.
“We’ve tried cakes in London, Dubai, Atlanta… but we want something authentically Lagos. We heard you are the only one who can do that.”
Cynthia whispered behind me, “Who told them? Who is spreading this rumour?”
“We’d like a two-tier cake please,” the woman continued. “Elegant. Modern. Luxurious. Minimalist, but dramatic. Soft, but bold. Subtle, but striking. You understand?”
I did not. But I nodded like a professional. “When do you need it?”
“We need it for the 24th!” she said brightly. “Money is not a problem.”
Her fiancé opened his wallet casually and showed me hundred-dollar bills. Crisp like they were ironed.
My brain short-circuited for one second.
“Dollars are fine,” he added. “It’s just easier.”
Cynthia coughed. Morayo turned her back to compose herself. I nodded.
The couple left happily, promising to “send their vibe board.”
The moment they exited, Cynthia whispered, “Dayo, Detty December has opened its gates.”
The last week before Christmas, our lives became a loop: Bake. Cool. Decorate. Box. Deliver. Repeat until delirium sets in.
The reunion cake was the most stressful. Eventually, we delivered a very respectable cake-version of their assembly hall. When they unveiled it, the hall erupted into cheers.
Bode hugged me like I won Best in Class.
“You even added the bell!”
If only he knew what that bell cost us emotionally.
December 23rd was hectic. We had three major deliveries that day.
The roads were pure chaos. Lagos was vibrating with Detty December energy – concerts, weddings, hangouts, parties, traffic gridlock.
Mohammed kept sending voice notes:
“Madam, I’m still on Herbert Macaulay…
Madam, someone is doing TikTok in the middle of the road…
Madam, pray for me…”
The IJGB couple came by the shop to pick up their cake. They arrived excited, wearing outfits that cost more than my rent, filming everything.
“Oh my gosh babe, look at the mixers, and everything!”
“Wow, so cute. Real Lagos vibe.”
“Babe, can I vlog? Dayo, can I vlog?”
Their cake turned out beautiful: two-tier blush buttercream with gold flecks and sugared berries.
The woman gasped when she opened the box.
“It’s giving soft luxury. It’s giving Lagos Chic. It’s giving Detty December!”
Her fiancé grinned. “You’re a genius, Dayo.”
They tipped us $200 without blinking. Then they left, their perfumes lingering in the air.
Cynthia clapped. “I think we need more IJGB clients. Maybe we should advertise at Heathrow Airport.”
Despite our tiredness, we all laughed.
By Christmas Eve, we were exhausted. But we had to deliver all the final orders. I had decided that we would close for Christmas and reopen on the 2nd of January.
At 3.00pm, we loaded the van with the last set of orders, praying that every single cake would reach its destination before its scheduled time.
Once Mohammed left, we looked around the bakery, and realised we still had a big cleaning job to do.
I hugged all my staff, including Toyin.
“Thanks ladies. I couldn’t have done this without you!”
“I need sleep!” Cynthia said.
“I totally feel you.” Toyin replied.
We got to cleaning and putting everything away. By 7.30pm, Mohammed returned with suya and malt, like an angel.
“Madam, una try. Una deserve national award.”
“Mohammed! Thank you!”
We ate the suya like survivors of a long battle.
Finally, our own Detty December nights began. After surviving the craziest baking month of the year, we took a night off. Toyin went back to Surulere, while Mohammed went to visit some family.
Cynthia, Morayo and I went home to freshen up, then we went to a beach party at Oniru. It was a blast – music vibrating through the sand, happy people everywhere. Fireworks, laughter, food and drinks flowing. We danced like people who had just escaped an oven.
At one point, Cynthia raised her glass and shouted, “This is our real Detty December!”
She wasn’t wrong.
Thank you for reading! Follow Dayo’s adventures in Memoirs of a Lagos Baker from The Lagos Flash Fiction Series by Tolulope Popoola.
Amazon: http://amazon.co.uk/dp/B0DYLB1P3T
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