The sun beat down on Lusaka, turning the air into a thick, shimmering haze. Even the tuk-tuks seemed to be moving at a slower pace, the drivers fanning themselves with tattered newspapers. You, however, were in a rush. You were supposed to be at the market by 10 am to meet your neighbour, Mrs. Chileshe, for the weekly 'bally' – a kind of informal auction for second-hand goods.
You grabbed your phone, checking the time. 9:45 am. You had to hurry. You dialled Mrs. Chileshe's number, your thumb hovering over the end call button. Finally, she answered. Her voice, full of the energy of a woman who'd already bargained her way through half the market, crackled through the speaker.
'Hello! Did you find that old rug I was telling you about?'
You gave her a half-hearted 'Yes, I did', knowing full well that you hadn't even left the house.
'Oh, brilliant!' she exclaimed. 'I'll see you there in a few minutes, then – you know, by the mango stall?'
'Yep,' you said, 'by the mango stall.' You then, as you always did after a call with Mrs Chileshe, muttered a little 'Mad woman' under your breath.
You knew it was a silly thing to say. She was lovely, albeit a tad eccentric. Maybe it was the way she always wore a mismatched pair of earrings – one dangling a sunflower, the other a miniature bicycle. Or perhaps it was her habit of starting every sentence with 'Well, you see, my dear…' But the 'Mad woman' was a comfortable, harmless way to end the call and it never seemed to hurt anyone.
Except, this time.
As you were disconnecting the call, you heard a muffled chuckle. You froze. You hadn't hung up yet. You were sure of it.
'Who's mad, now?' the voice of Mrs. Chileshe asked, followed by a loud, hearty laugh.
Your face felt like it was on fire. You were caught red-handed, or rather, ear-phoned. You stammered out a half-hearted excuse about your phone being faulty.
“Oh, my dear!' she chuckled. “I know you, you're just a little jealous you didn't get that rug first. You're always talking about how much you loved it.”
You swallowed hard, trying to think of something witty to say. But all you could manage was, “I… I was just… testing the microphone.”
Mrs. Chileshe's laughter boomed over the phone. “Oh, you rascal!” she said, the amusement still in her voice. “Come on, I’ll wait for you by the mango stall.”
You hung up, feeling like you had been caught, pants down, in the middle of the market square.
The next few minutes were a blur. As you walked to the market, shame and embarrassment gnawed at you. You tried to imagine Mrs. Chileshe telling the whole market about your 'Mad woman' comment, the entire place erupting in laughter. It didn't help that your mind was conjuring up images of her, with her mismatched earrings, cackling with delight.
When you finally reached the mango stall, you braced yourself for the inevitable. You expected a group of people, entertained by the story of your little indiscretion. But there was no one around except Mrs Chileshe, calmly inspecting a stall of plastic buckets.
“You’re late, my dear” she said, not sounding a bit angry. “But then again, you’re always a little late, aren’t you?”
You felt a wave of relief wash over you, but it was quickly replaced by a surge of curiosity. Had she not heard your comment? Or, if she had, did she simply decide not to make a fuss about it?
“So, where was that old rug you found? You saw it first, remember?” she reminded you, her eyes twinkling.
You shook your head, a little dazed. You managed to stutter out something about a misunderstanding, but your explanation fell on deaf ears, your words lost in the joyful cacophony of the market.
You looked at Mrs. Chileshe, her infectious laughter now echoing off the stalls. You couldn't help but smile. Perhaps, you thought, those small, inconsequential insults weren't so harmless after all. Perhaps they were just a reminder that even the smallest of things could bring a little joy, a little laughter, to the everyday.
You took a deep breath, the scent of mangoes and spices filling your lungs. And you decided that, maybe, just maybe, from now on, you would just say, 'See you soon', at the end of every phone call. After all, it was a whole lot better than being caught out, pants down, in the middle of the market. Besides, you wouldn't want to disappoint the woman who always found the humor in everything, even in a harmless little insult.
