The market was
clustered with shops and make-shift stalls -basket trays laden with goods
sitting on a stool- fitted into every available space. Stalls lining both sides
of the street and shops filled with goods spilling through doors and neatly
arranged by the entrance, only to be packed indoors at the end of the day and
then out again the next day. This was a road and somewhat, still is. Just a
narrower version of its initial width. Over the years, the market women gradually
inched their stalls forward, closer to the road, making space for even more
stalls. This raised concerns from the government and public, but once they
gained an inch, no one could drive them back. Cars honked, slowing down to a
crawling pace and sometimes waiting for a stall to be moved out of the way
before driving past.
The market women are
always at alert, looking left and right, smiling and stretching their hands,
beckoning to customers. Like skilled hunters, they seek their customers, looking
and judging; a young lady, an elderly woman. Voice raised high, shouting as
loud as possible, making rhymes. A battle, a contest for the highest caller,
the most creative.
“Buy pepper, cook for
your husband”
“This yam is good,
this yam is for food”
“This is fresh, come
try and you won’t regret”
These catchy rhymes
sometimes get stuck in my head after a visit to the market, and when I repeat
them in jest, my mum will chide. "May that not be your portion! You will
become a lawyer or a doctor."
I squeezed past the
two pepper sellers with stalls so close together you could mistaken them as
one, to get to my mum's shop. I often wondered how they manage to cohabit,
selling the same goods, plying for the same customers. My mum had sometimes
spoken about rifts among traders, jealousy about who got the most customers.
Since I had gone to
the market directly from school, I had my uniform on and so I was careful not
to get it sullied. I was going to wear it the next day. I always wear it twice
before washing it. The sun was high out and it burned the back of neck,
my armpits felt moist and tingled the way they do when I sweat and pebbles of
sweat gathered above my upper lip and nose.
"Good afternoon
ma" I greeted my mum. She sat on a bench along the wall of her shop’s entrance,
fanning herself with a cut cardboard paper.
"Hey how are you?
How was school?"
"Fine." That
was the answer I always gave, it didn't matter if it wasn't. I dropped my
bag, grabbed a cold sachet water from the stall next to her shop. Pure water we
call it, as the label clearly advertised in bold letters, though tales have
been told of the miserable condition some are manufactured in.
I took out a N5[i]
from my pocket to pay, but Mama Risi rejects. "Omo ile iwe wa, bawo ni
school?"[1]
“Mama Risi, I have
told you to stop this! You rarely make any profit from what you sell. You
shouldn't be giving it out free of charge!" My mum cried, when she
realised Mama Risi didn’t let me pay.
“Shebi[2]
it's your child? It's fine! We mustn't charge a student"
I pocketed the money
and went to sit. I hate being caught in this I-care-about-you charade. This wasn't
the first time. I was personally happy that I could save the N5, one would
think my mum will be too.
“No no no no. Titi,
give her the money.” Mum said
“Titi, don't worry.”
Mama Risi said
“Mama Risi, collect the money.” Mum said
“No, it’s fine.” She
said with a smile, turning away to attend to another customer.
After a little while
of back and forth, with a smile of amusement on my face watching the whole
drama, my mum relented. I'll be here again tomorrow, I’ll take another pure
water, and this whole friendly argument will ensue again.
This intrigues me
about my culture. I do not have the wealth of words to explain it but, the
togetherness and love though it could be skin deep at times and only for
personal gain. Mama Risi, stays rent free on a spot that is part of my mum’s
shop and so to constantly show her gratitude for my mum’s generosity, she gives
me free pure water. My mum on the other hand, has done this goodness out of
love and not for personal gain, hence, she insist Mama Risi lets me pay. What a
dance!
I don't like the
market, dirty kids running around half naked, neglected by very busy mothers,
the smell of fish, the heat, flies perching on rotten food waste only to then
perch on fresh beef chunks dripping with blood. “One doesn't call the hand that
feeds one dirty!" My mum would rebuke, every time I complain about the
market. I pushed Risi away as she rushed toward me with open arms. She was
barefooted, mud clung to her feet and the stain of bean pudding or some other
nasty food around her mouth. She was going to stain my uniform.
The earlier I get out
of here the better, I thought. I had homework to do and also didn't want to
miss the start of the new season of Papa Ajasco, but more importantly, MTV
base. I took the bag of fish and pepper I had come to collect.
"I am leaving."
“Wait. Now that you
are here, look after the shop awhile. I need to go see Kunle’s dad concerning
the Market Force monthly contribution money”.
Oh no! The last thing
I know how to do is suck up to customers, a treatment these people crave. I
dare not refuse though, a dance night at school was coming soon and I'll need
to buy a new dress.
I dumped the bag of
fish with a thump and slumped back on the bench, face scrunched up. “Ok.” I
murmured
She re-ties her
wrapper and walked out. "Keep an eye on the money bag”. She called over
her shoulder.
I sat there, head
bowed to keep from making eye contact with the milling crowd of people, hoping
no customer will approach. I took out the book we had been asked to read
at school, Tess of D’Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy.
Wham! I flinched as a
ball went couple of inches past my face, hitting the shop’s wall. I looked up
to find an apologetic looking kid.
“What do you think you
are doing?” I demanded.
“Hope everything is
fine.” Mama Risi called from the next stall.
“Yes ma. It is this
idiot that kicked a ball into the shop.”
“Abeg, no vex. Na
mistake.” He rushed in to pick the ball, lodged underneath my mum’s chair.
“Make sure he pays if
he has broken anything.” Mama Risi called again.
“No, it is all fine.”
I called back.
With a lopsided smile,
he backed out of the shop. I went back to reading.
An hour later, my mum
came back. I was sure it took her that long only because she must have stopped
countless of times on her way back from Kunle’s dad’s stall, to talk to other
market women. I picked up the bag of now dripping bag of fish as the ice was
starting to melt off and left.
I walked, skirting
muddles of water on the floor and walking on tip toes to prevent the black mud,
littered with fish scales and pepper stalks from staining my socks. Calls of “sister”,
“fine girl”, “sisi” surrounded me. "Come and buy", "I will give
you a good price", "I will cut you a good bargain". It was a
melody I didn’t care for. Head down, I
picked my way out of the market.
I busted out into the
busy road with the noise of cars zooming past and bus conductors calling out
for passengers. As I walked past a parked bus, the conductor pulled at my arm.
"Fine geh!" I snatched my arm away and quickened my steps.
"Heys" he shouted, making a calling noise with pursed lips. I played
deaf.
“Mtcheww.” He hissed.
"No be anoda man dey climb you?"
This is another reason
I hate the market. Ugly, unruly area boys with their harassing words and conduct.
As I boarded the cab home, I kept thinking of how wrong it was to be grabbed
against my will, by hands soiled black with engine oil and of how painful it was
that I could do nothing about it! How dare he say I am climbed by a man, am I a
dog or a horse?! Anger welled inside of me. If I were strong enough, I would
have beaten him to a pulp, I would have made him beg for mercy and teach him
why it is wrong to speak to a woman like that! To think I'm just a school girl
and he probably in his thirties. Plus, how could he possibly assume that I'll
date him?! I’m a literate and he, a lousy illiterate. Even my boyfriend, one of
the cutest guys in school, asked me for a whole month before I agreed! And he
certainly doesn’t climb me! I looked down at the black smudge on the arm of my
uniform and I knew I'll have to wash my shirt today after all! This is so unfair!
A trip to the market leaves me so frustrated.
I will be so rich when
I grow up, I won't have to deal with hoodlums like this. I’ll live in Victoria
Garden City. I had spent the last holiday there with my cousins. The market
there were tiled and called malls and shop attendants greeted politely with a
smile.
The cab came to a sudden
halt by the roadside to pick up more passengers, causing the car behind to
swerve sharply just in time. The driver stuck his hand out of the window,
cussing our driver and gesturing frantically.
We were already four
in the cab; three seated on the backseat and a passenger beside him. When we
complained, he said we could all get off if we wanted, his car fits six people.
Of course we didn’t alight as we had paid, so we shifted reluctantly to
accommodate the new passengers, while the woman beside me lectured him on how
greedy he is and somehow managed to morph the lecture into how important it is
for him to give his life to Christ as “He is the provider of all our needs”.
She took out her Bible, taking up more room as she leafed through pages,
searching for verses to back up her speech. The driver increased the volume of
the song he was listening to and sang loudly along, smirking his teeth the
whole time, a toothpick hanging loosely at the corner of his mouth. I lowered
the window all the way and the blast of fresh air hit my face. I'll be home
soon, away from all this! I'll be home.
***
Mum came home that evening
bellowing my name. I knew I was in trouble. I racked my head for what it could
be, nothing came to mind. I later learnt, it was the money! It got stolen while
I was watching the shop, the boy who had mistakenly
kicked the ball into the shop took it. To think he was only a boy, he
didn’t look a day over 10 years. Stupid street urchin!
This was a major
setback. We couldn’t afford the rent and the landlord was harsher on my mum as
she had no crown. We would wake up to one of his rant as he banged on our door.
“Pay me my money”, he’d yell “that is why every woman needs a husband! Treat
your husbands well women! He is your crown.”
A little over a month
later, we left the house. My mum woke up early on a Saturday morning and said
“We are leaving.” Oh! The Crown? He
left some years ago as he wanted a son which my mum couldn’t give. The doctors
said she was lucky to be alive after she had me.
I was ridden with
guilt. I had to help in the market on weekends as we needed the money. Oh, how
I hated it, but I couldn’t complain. That whole month was even harder as my
boyfriend, Nosa, broke my heart. It turned out he had been asking a junior out.
It was a month of guilt, loss and heartbreak. I settled into my new home and
was still heartbroken, but something changed.
I became a market
girl. As the months went by of helping in the market, I felt the joy of
cajoling customers till they hand over their money in exchange for our goods, I
became skilled at judging which customer to beckon and which was just window
shopping, which to cut an unusual bargain for as they are a regular. In fact, mum
let me setup a small stool in front of her shop to sell handmade beaded
jewellery. I took Mama Risi’s spot.
Mama Risi, oh poor Mama
Risi! As she ran across the street one cloudy evening, just before the market
closed to get change for a hasty customer, she got ran over by a motorcycle.
She laid askew on the road, a bone jutted out from her calf, dirt clung to her
exposed thighs and a long open gash ran from the top of her head to her cheek.
It was a horrid sight. My mum grabbed Risi and hurried into the shop, saving
her from such an unpleasant spectacle. Since Mama Risi had no one in the city,
Risi became my younger sister. That break, I refused to go to my cousin’s. I
had a sister to look after and goods to sell.
Mum got comfortable
with leaving me in her shop again. She even thought I had a special gift for
sales. “Touch this money” she would say and then, she would put it in her
sheepskin money bag, mixing it with the other notes and coins. “We will make a
lot of sales today.” She would smile.
I packed in the goods
by the entrance and locked the shop’s metal door. As I made my way to the bus
stop that evening, I waved goodnight to the other market men and women packing
up. “Good night Sisi Nike” they called. “Good night ma, good night sir.” I
answered. A guy sidled up to me. “Heys, sister.” I raised my hand. “You dey
craze?” He took a step back. With a smile I turned away. I was no longer
bothered by this, they had the right to ask and I had the right to answer. The thought of cold water caressing my skin,
washing away the mud from my feet and the perspiration from my skin drew me
home. I could just smell the bean pudding mum always made on Saturdays for
dinner. I hastened my step.
