Indeed, change is desperately needed, especially considering the recent surge in violence. The hot wind blows down the main street as I stand there, perspiring despite the weather. I can’t help but sweat, especially considering the misfortune I had earlier while tending to the Marmarin products I sell on the roadside.
A sorry tree provides some shelter, but it doesn’t stop the sweat from pouring out like water. Half of my merchandise has been ruined, particularly the bananas, which are now nothing more than a mushy mess. Some water splashed from the burst fruit bags, adding to my misery. This was the state of affairs since the morning, as my vendor neighbor informed me.
In the morning, a powerful gust of wind had caused a large tree branch to snap and fall onto my table. Oranges were sent rolling onto the road, and the cars mercilessly trampled the bananas. I rinsed the salvageable produce and segregated the good from the damaged.
What troubles me the most is that despite the day passing by, I’ve barely made forty naira. It’s as though I’m going backwards. Innallillahi Wa’inna Ilaihi raji’un, I repeatedly mutter to myself as I glance at my watch; it’s already four o’clock in the evening.
I’m filled with anxiety because I don’t know how to face the goods’ owner. Returning to the shop tomorrow means taking goods on credit, as I have nothing to pay with except…
My thoughts are abruptly interrupted when I see him approaching me, as if he’s been flung towards me. He’s the last person I expected to see here. He comes up to me with a smile.
“Peace be upon you.”
“Amen. Wa’alaikumussalam,” I manage to respond to his greeting. But what keeps me from saying anything more is the way my brother’s eyes drift to the fruit-laden table. He looks at the fruits, then back at me, and I can tell he’s noticed the damage. My brother asks if I’ve sold the goods.
“Wal… by God,” I start, “a tree branch fell on them.”
I explain that I need time to sell and pay him for the goods. He looks at me silently, and I understand what he’s implying. I hazard a guess at 40 naira, push the money toward him, and turn my head away in frustration.
“What’s this?” he asks.
I inform him that he’ll have to wait until tomorrow when I sell and have the money to pay him.
He looks at me angrily, and in a tone tinged with annoyance, he tells me that this won’t do, and that he needs to set conditions before providing me with more goods. He falls silent, his breath held, his face glistening with sweat like water.