Tapestry Of Lives: A Multifaceted Journey

Chapter Twenty

**Bummi’s Mom P.O.V.**

To be realistic, there’s absolutely nothing I haven’t tried for this business since I lost my previous trade. When I started this clothing business, it wasn’t a popular choice because many people were involved. But now, with many of those families having moved overseas, I thought the reduced competition would help it thrive.

But no!

I’ve sacrificed so much for this business, yet everything keeps going wrong.

It’s painful to admit, but it’s advisable to accept.

I’ve attended various church programs, night vigils, consulted native doctors, gotten water from diabolic rivers, and visited herbalists. All to ensure good sales every day.

Still, there’s nothing to show for it. No changes.

If not for God’s grace, how would I and my two kids survive?

Even my daughter, who lost her well-paying job months ago, joined three church departments, hoping God would remember us.

It’s frustrating and very difficult living under these circumstances.

Sometimes, I fear for my daughter.

Her devotion to her religious beliefs and her punctuality at choir practice make me wonder.

She wakes up as early as 5 AM four days a week to complete her morning evangelism routine.

Hmmm...

This isn’t the Bummi I used to know. Even her former colleagues, Lola and Ojo, are surprised by the sudden change.

I hope this path favors her and all of us, including my business.

---

I sat in the store all day, from 8 AM to 4 PM, without selling a single item. Today was supposed to be a day for cooking a new meal, and I was relying on today’s sales.

I convinced myself to stay an hour longer before calling it a day.

Then, two elegant women walked in.

You know that feeling of strong faith, like the woman with the issue of blood in the Bible?

Indeed! I was going to make my favorite soup—Gbegiri and Amala with assorted meats—today.

“Who’s here?” asked a brown-skinned lady in a pink sequined buba and wrapper, with a short bob wig, looking for the seller.

“It’s me,” I quickly jumped up from my half-broken plastic chair.

Another fair-skinned lady, in the same attire but red, with a silver purse and 18-inch bone straight frontal, followed behind her.

If they weren’t coming from a party or club meeting, they must be wives of politicians who dress elegantly on occasion.

The fair lady looked around the store with an unpleasant expression, as if displeased or irritated.

“How may I help you, Ma’am?” I asked as the brown-skinned lady picked up a 12-yard Hollandis material.

She didn’t respond immediately, busy selecting the finest material.

“I don’t wear common clothes,” she remarked blandly, waving her hand. “Don’t you have Indian lace or Spanish sequins?”

Ah, they should take it easy. I’m not at that level yet.

I’d have to sell everything in this store just to afford 3 yards of such material.

I gulped.

“Yemisi, a yard costs over 30 thousand dollars, not in Naira. Do you think this woman can provide such material in a store like this? Does this look like a foreign boutique to you?” The fair lady said, her eyes scanning the store.

I took it as a compliment rather than an insult.

“Ronke, don’t be too harsh,” Yemisi sighed, seemingly indifferent.

Ronke began fanning her face as if she might suffocate. “I’m running out of patience, Yemi. I told you I have a friend who sells international materials in Abuja, but you refused to fly there and brought us to this lowlife store near the dirty gutters in Lagos.”

Now that’s not a compliment, but a harsh insult.

Calling my 150,000 naira yearly paid store rent a lowlife is unkind, but there’s nothing I can do.

This is what you get from some politician’s wives patronizing you.

But you know the saying, ‘Beggars can’t be choosers’?

Am I officially a beggar now?

God forbid!

I quickly said something to salvage my dignity. “Ah, madame, I understand your point. But unfortunately, I sold that exact material last week. However, buy these ones first, and I’ll be going to the market in a few days.” I said with my best smile.

“Then when you return from the market, you can wait for your fellow cockroaches and rats to eat them up.” Ronke hissed, batting her long artificial eyelashes at me.

It ruined my best smile.

I thought Yemisi might stand up for me, but she laughed at what her friend said.

“Let’s get out of this primitive place and go somewhere we can get what we want,” I overheard Ronke say as they walked out chuckling.

Tears welled up in my eyes, and my heart broke into a million pieces. I sat on the floor, weeping.

The problem isn’t them not buying from me, but how will I provide food tonight?

---

I got home feeling robbed. I was surprised to see we had power after being disconnected for three months due to non-payment.

Nifemi ran out to help with my empty black handbag.

“How come the light?” I asked, confused. He said, “First come in and eat.”

“Eat?” I gasped.

He nodded.

What’s going on? I’m not used to such surprises. My daughter greeted me with a wide grin.

“Welcome home, mommy. Hope you had a great day at the market today?” She hugged me.

I’d say it was awful before now.

I was about to speak, but she held my arms and said, “I know what you want to say, but believe me, I didn’t do anything absurd. Just a client’s makeup and two hairdos fixed everything.” She’s lying. “Come, I’ll tell you everything inside.”

You’re lying, Bummi. I know when you’re telling the truth or lying.

Just makeup and two hairdos couldn’t pay off the 350,000 naira power supply debt.

Moreover, you don’t have any makeup kits, Bummi.

Where did you get the money for all this?