I never have a problem of waking up in the morning. What I find difficult is waking up and having nothing to do. It was my off day.
Even on this day I could never rest. With pockets full of halls, there’s no rest in this world for a man.
“Are you okay?” I said . I poked Mai VaMaidei in the ribs. She was still sleeping. Very unusual.
Her daily routine started as early as 5am. There were always customers at the market at that time.
She stirred on the bed and turned her body over. She moaned. She had coughed for half the night.
“It’s my head, seems it has split in half,” she said. “And we don’t have painkillers in the house,” I said.
Mai VaMaidei was in pain. I was alarmed. I went to the kitchen. I prepared a concoction of ginger, garlic and lemon.
I called it ambuya’s solution. It was in honour of my grandmother who showed me many herbs that treated diseases. I was never short of these ingredients in the house. It kept simple flues at arm’s length.
By the time the concoction was ready, Mai VaMaidei was sitting up in bed. She had the long face of a sick person. Her eyes were red and the lips were dry.
From outside the house came the ding dong sounds of a town coming to life. It was the kombis that irritated me. Hooters were blaring every now and again.
Someone was shouting hoarsely.
“We repair broken pots! “
I did not need to look outside. It was Benjamin Mupositori. He repaired pots and dishes that had holes. I opened the curtain partially. Hwata Street was getting crowded with people scurrying in different directions.
The majority of them were market women. Sometimes I liked the spectacle. On other days I would be part of the crowd. Today I was irritated.
She took a sip of the concoction. She made a face. “Take some more sips,” I said.
I had deliberately made it strong. It always worked and saved a trip to the doctor’s rooms.
She took another sip. She coughed. And then she sneezed.
“That’s it,” I said. Sneezing was a good sign. Back in the old days my grandmother in the village always said sneezing and belching was a good sign of healing. She had taught me many concoctions but city life had made me forget the herbs she had shown me in the woods.
“You want to kill me, you made this too strong,” she said. She put the cup down and lay back on the bed. She was sick. She was worried.
“I’ll go to the market today, you can rest,” I said. Her eyes sparkled briefly. She could not afford missing a single market day.
“Thank you,” she smiled.
It was the perishable products that were always a problem.
Vegetables like cabbages, covo and carrots made good sales but they also needed to be sold quickly while still fresh. Bananas and red tomatoes were very fragile.
In the kitchen there were several baskets of vegetables. And very soon Mukoma Ben would bring his cart to carry the wares to the market. Mai VaMaidei always paid him one dollar for each trip.
I did not have much to prepare.
Today there was no porridge.
The children were still sleeping by the time I left for the market.
When we were about to reach the market, someone touched my shoulder with familiarity. It was Tigere, my landlord.
I scowled at him.
“Next week,” he said.
“I know, end of month is next week,” I said.
There was no love lost between the two of us. We did not like each other. “Just to let you know that I don’t want any excuses next week,” he said.
Meeting Tigere so early in the morning was a bad way to start the day.
After laying out the table at the market, I took out my wallet.
I had a Benjamin in the wallet. It was crisp new. I was keeping it for rent. I could never give Tigere this new crisp one hundred dollar denomination.
I changed it at the Ecocash agent nearby for smaller notes.
When I put the smaller notes in my wallet, I got a sense of satisfaction. It was like I had a lot of money. I was going to reserve all the dirty notes for Tigere. Good for him! If he tried to make trouble, I would tell him money is money, dirty or clean take it or leave it.
*Onie Ndoro, For Feedback: X@Onie90396982/oniendoroh@gmail.com