We are often asked: who is Mister Booja-Booja? And how did wonderful Booja-Booja chocolate truffles come to be? This poem may shed a little light...
IN A TINY TOWN not far away,
Not long ago, but not today,
There lived a chocolate maker man,
Who had himself a chocolate plan.
His desire was very grand,
To sell his chocolates ‘cross the land.
From Franklin Bay to Robert’s Beach,
From Tima Town to Flavuh’s Reach.
The maker worked for many years,
From morn till noon, through sweat and tears,
To get the tastiness just right,
For utmost pleasure with every bite,
He mixed and tasted, one by one,
And tried so hard to get them done,
But as the chocolates appeared,
The one thing happened, he’d always feared.
THEY FELT SO NICE, and smelt so great,
They tasted sweet and looked ornate,
But his one big dread, that made it tragic,
They didn’t have that special magic!
He tried again and changed the mix,
He tried all sorts to try and fix
The missing link, the magic part,
That would stand his chocolate far apart
From all the other chocolate stuff,
To change the taste was not enough.
He began to make a list,
To find out what the chocolates missed.
He searched high up, he searched low down,
In mountains, rivers, vale and town,
He travelled far, he travelled wide,
But he couldn’t get it though he tried.
Until one day, he just gave up,
And went back to his tiny hut.
He closed the door, sat down and cried,
THERE WAS NOTHING that he hadn’t tried.
And so the maker went to bed,
With thoughts of sadness in his head,
He had so wanted to succeed,
In creating the yummiest feed.
He drifted off, to sleepy land,
An empty choc box in his hand,
And dreamt of what it might have been,
If the answer, he had seen.
All was quiet in the hut,
The doors and windows, all tight shut.
And as the maker snored away,
Nighttime went and then came day.
It was quiet and peaceful all around.
And snow lay snugly on the ground.
THEN SUDDENLY, he woke up with a start,
Joy and anticipation in his heart.
He heard a voice but not in his head,
So he crept downstairs to the chocolate shed.
And in the corner, stood a figure,
A broad smile and a nose even bigger.
The figure threw a piece of fudge,
But the maker man refused to budge.
“Who are you, and why are you here?”
“I am Mister Booja-Booja, my dear.
I felt a calling late last night,
I’ve come to help you in your plight,
You thought you were the chocolate man,
But I’m the Chocolate Master Plan!
To change the taste buds of a nation,
I’m all you need for your inspiration.
Just wait, I’ll give you what you need
I’ll help you with the perfect feed.
It won’t be easy and you’ll have to trust,
Your faith in me is a definite must.
Now, come, I’ll lend a helping hand,
It all comes clear when you understand.”
THE TWO SET OUT to make the best,
A chocolate to outshine the rest,
The maker man rolled up his sleeves,
And let go of his old beliefs.
And so the two men worked all night,
To get the chocolates tasting right.
With Mr Booja-Booja’s gift,
The chocolates had a certain lift,
A Booja something, Booja feeling,
Like giggling from floor to ceiling,
The maker man began to feel,
A warmth all-over, head to heel.
A feeling like he’d never felt,
That made his head and heart just melt,
This sweetest happiness began to run
Like chocolate in the midday sun,
“I UNDERSTAND where I went wrong,
I tried so hard, so very long,
Until you shared your recipe,
I didn’t feel the mystery.
I see it now, it all makes sense,
Making chocs is not intense,
I’ve been caught, in a circling search
That I thought was profound research.
It never could be satisfied,
No matter how I tried and tried.”
And then the maker man exclaimed:
“Of course, sir, that is why you came!”
Mr Booja-Booja smiled and waved,
Another chocolate maker saved!
He slowly disappeared into
A space unseen by me and you,
A place he always knew as home,
Back to his friend Unknown Jerome.
Within a year, the word had spread,
And people ‘cross the land had read
About the most amazing sweets,
And totally magnificent treats.
AND TO THIS DAY, those who have tasted,
Are glad this lifetime wasn’t wasted,
On merely superficial snacks,
Like bags of Kliks and bars of Klaks.
And all because the maker quit,
And just surrendered all of it,
He now had everything, and yet
I’m sure that it’s a certain bet,
If it all disappeared in a puff of smoke,
He’d see it all as one big joke,
Just happy that he had gone through,
The Booja-Booja of me and you.