The first light of dawn stretched across Victoria Island, Lagos, a haze of orange and gold promising a day unlike any other.
By 4 a.m., Eko Hotels & Suites was already humming — food lovers, celebrities, curiosity-seekers, dignitaries, all gathered in silent anticipation. At the centre of it all stood Hilda Effiong Bassey — known far and wide as Hilda Baci — her posture calm, her eyes alight with resolve. Today, she would cook not just jollof rice, but history.
For nearly a year, she had been preparing. Blueprints for a massive custom steel pot were drawn, measurements checked, and triple-checked. Engineers consulted. Ingredients sourced. At one point, the plan called for 250 bags of raw basmati rice — nearly 5,000 kg — to fill a pot with a 22,619-litre. The giant pot would stand about six metres in width and six metres in height.
But as the moment drew close, Hilda made a tough decision. Due to weighing and safety constraints (especially concerning the pot’s capacity and the crane/scale setup), she scaled back to 200 bags of rice — about 4,000 kg raw. Still, when cooked, the rice would swell, the flavours deepen, and it would feed tens of thousands.
As the sky brightened, a band of drums awakened the crowd, warm notes rising above the early morning chatter. Live music, banners, laughter — the air was charged. Assistants in red uniforms carried baskets laden with tomatoes, onions, oil; giant paddles stood ready beside the pot. The smell of sizzling onions filled the air first, then garlic, followed by the unmistakable burst of tomato and pepper. Children darted between seated guests, pointing, “Look! See how big!” Elders smiled; strangers exchanged nods. This was more than cooking. It was a carnival of culture.
Hilda Baci stood beside that towering cauldron, sleeves rolled, sweat gathering on her brow. She remembered childhood scenes — mother stirring rice over a wood flame, laughter, stories, the taste of home. She paused to pray with her mom; later, she even washed the giant pot herself, climbing inside, joking about being “squeaky clean.” Her attention was meticulous. Though the scale was gigantic, the standard remained intimate — flavour, hygiene, technique. “This will be the most amazing, hygienic meal you’ve ever eaten,” she promised.
The cooking stretched for hours. Every stage required care: boiling, frying, simmering, checking heat, stirring without burning the bottom, tasting, adjusting. Around her, the crowd cheered, applauded, whispered praise. Celebrities and public figures came; fans surged in, many standing in long queues to catch a glimpse.
Midway, she paused. Her phone buzzed with messages — from small towns, from people she had never met, from those who believed this effort was bigger than a record. Her face softened. This was more than food. It was identity, pride, and belonging. It was Nigeria’s story in aroma and spice.
When the final stir was made, when steam curled in golden tendrils from the surface, Hilda looked into the pot and declared it done. A roar swept through the gathering. The massive pot of jollof rice stood full, fragrant, radiant under the morning sun. Guinness World Records’ adjudicators waited, prepared to verify weight, capacity, and documentation. But even before that seal, for many, it was a victory.
Then came the distribution. Thousands received portions — free of charge — and the scene became one of shared joy. Spoons, plates, laughter. Relief. Gratitude. Children biting rice, adults closing eyes in satisfaction, and strangers hugging. “We are feeding the nation,” Hilda said. And truly, for that moment, the nation tasted something historic.
As dusk settled, flood-lights illuminated the giant pot, casting shadows and hopes. Crowds lingered, resisting departure. Conversations buzzed: praise for the courage, admiration for the logistics, wonder at the scale. Chefs, food critics, ordinary people alike acknowledged that this was something rare — ambition married to execution, dream to action.
In the end, the giant cauldron of jollof rice was more than a record attempt. It was a statement: that heritage can be grand; that roots matter even when ambition soars; that when Nigerians cook together, the aroma spreads far beyond the pot.
