Who We Are.

An Old Fence

It's almost time. The large brown grandfather clock that was perched against the wall - trying it's best to cover a large pee stain that was hiding behind it. I hide behind the large white column that was placed randomly in the middle of the store. I wonder what this place was like before. As it ticked I quietly tapped my foot to the click. I was supposed to be searching for the spiciest black pepper for my mom's okra soup. She said that it needs flavor. I loved my mother's okra soup - it was spicy enough to make you forget all the worries in the world. There are so many of those. I peeked out from behind the column and saw that the old man that was watching me like I was a pickpocketer was finally gone. I slowly pushed the white cart in the direction that I was going towards. This store probably didn't have it even though it was the good Walmart that we went on a 20-minute drive for. This was the whites Walmart and they had nice and clean walls. They weren't run down like the one near my house. We had the large rats that you would find in New York while they had nightly cleaners. I really hated seeing an occasional white grandma family pass by me and mom and shake her head or scoot away thinking they'll get some kind of disease. Or worse confront us. I pulled out a pack of saltine crackers that I had brought from home and begin to snack. I needed a break from pushing this big cart. I stood against an isle wall and watched over my cart before heading all the way across the nearly quarter-mile-long store. I took another glance at the wall then nearly tripped on my old shoelaces.

It was 7:00, why hadn't the show started yet? Then it hit me - wrong Walmart. At the Walmart near my house, we have a raffle every Sunday. The winner of the raffle got to play a song of their choice over the loudspeaker and an item under $10 for free. Any item. I tried almost every time I went and always wanted to play the same song - Swing Low, Sweet Chariot. The one by Etta James, not some ripoff that was produced recently.

I sighed, disappointed that my song didn't have a chance to fill the room for everyone to appreciate. Not like I would win, anyways. I've never won before. How did I forget? I didn't pay my dollar at the front door. The raffle worked in a weird way - you would pay a dollar at the door if you wanted to be entered. Then, they'd give you a slip of paper to write your song. Next, you went on your way. I sighed again and started my trekked across the store. Someone could seriously get lost in here and be found 6 hours later. When I arrived, I started a search right away. I volunteered to find the seasoning because last time my mom came, someone saw her trying the peppers to see which one would be spicy enough to pair with her soup. She was thrown out of the store and my mom didn't want to face that embarrassment again. I didn't taste the pepper, I just looked for the logo of the cartoon bull with his cheeky smile.

After a few minutes of picking up the light tin cans, and quickly putting them back down, I gave up. I knew it wouldn't be here. The people who buy here on a regular basis could never handle the heat that was contained inside that bottle. That's why white people only use salt. That's the most their taste buds can handle. I hope they will grow to understand the true meaning of spicy. I walked up to the front desk to ask more about it. When I reach it, I ran the bell and a musical noise rang throughout the store. I tapped against the desk again with my long fingernails and scanned over the selection of items that rested on the front desk against a rack of magazine. I grabbed a packet of Peanut covered M&Ms and dropped it into the cart that I was babysitting. Immediatly after I picked up the yellow packet, a man grabbed my dark green jacket. I turn around, about to launch a punch when the man yells, "Thief!" Everyone in the store turns to us - not looking the slights bit surprised. I bet the old man was gonna run up here any second now and claim he saw me stealing too. The store clerk comes out in a light green shirt and he rubs his stubbly chin. I turn around, trying to push the man off of me and start, "No, I wasn't stealing! I promise. I'm just here to ask if you have any spicy pepper!" The store clerk was black, he had to understand - he slit his eyes and said, "The spices that were there are the only ones available in the store." The man that was grabbing the back of my sweater - slung me into a chair by the side and whispered something to the clerk. Why did everyone think I'm a bad guy? The store clerk nodded and the other man just shrugged and walked away. The store clerk who was named Mikey, according to his white velcro name tag turned to me.

"What's your name?" He looked down at the M&Ms that I was trying to buy. I whisper, "Chimamanda." His forehead wrinkles but he doesn't look up. All he does is pick up the pager he has to his left and call out, "Can the parents of Chimamanda Nguyen, please head to the front of the store? I repeat, the parents of Chimamanda Nguyen?" He slams down the phone and cotinues to serve other customers. He knew my last name. Doesn't everyone around here? My family has always "disgraced" Chicago - like many other black families. Eight years ago, my dad went to jail for a drug bust that he wasn't responible for . We have always been the balck sheep of the town - literally. We are Nigerian. I was boiling - I wasn't stealing. I can't wait to get out of here. I laid my head against the soft cushioned backing of the chair and sighed.