A Story In 2022
In August 2022, I did a thing.
Early that year, I gave up an article writing job that was paying peanuts, although before then I didn’t mind, and I had no job.
I felt I wasn’t going to be a badass at writing if I just kept waiting for my luck to tick and one of my many proposals on Upwork to get noticed, and the concept of writing on Medium was sort of a joke to me.
Didn’t know what to do, what to write about, but I wanted to be badass.
Fortunately, Lady Luck beamed on me and there was a platform on Twitter (X now), an account really, where writing contests were hosted weekly. They give you either a picture to write with, a line that must start or finish your story.
The purpose of the whole thing was just to get creative, exactly what I needed, so I decided to be an active participant at least all through August, and God, am I glad I did!
I decided to go through my gallery last night and came across a screenshot of one of the stories I submitted, not the greatest story you’ll ever read, but it’s one of the ones you’ll love. I promise.
Bazaar was always a fun day as a little girl. Early Sunday morning, the whole church gathered outside, sat on wooden long benches set under Neem trees that were used as canopies, everyone waiting for the Thanksgiving moment when they would dance and show off their new clothes.
It was a mini Christmas. There were evening events where foods and drinks would be sold, different sports and games to play, and the highlight of the day –The auction sales.
These days, it’s a bit different. The sermons are longer, people still danced, but rarely will you find them in new clothes, not with the economic state of the country taking a beating, you’d wonder “Why host a Bazaar since we’re all poor?”
For as long as I can remember, I’d been a consumer at Bazaars, but this year I decided to do a bake sale. Man must survive, by whatever means necessary. And that was how we met.
Gerald. Tall, well-built, and handsome, and when he spoke, I knew he was well-mannered.
“How much for a cake?” picking up the only cupcake on my stall without an icing, he asked.
“That’s for #100,” I said.
He sharply shifted his focus from the cake in his hand to my face “What?” he almost screamed.
“#100 sir” I smiled.
“How? It doesn’t even have icing on it, how much then for those with icing?”
This was probably a rhetorical question, but I wanted him to have the sound of my voice ringing in his ears as much as I wanted his in mine so I said “#150 sir”.
He tilted his head to his right, with his mouth slightly ajar and eyes fixed on me as I just stood there smiling at his reactions. I’d do the same if I was told a cupcake went for #100 with or without icing. The price is just ridiculous, but aren’t we all hypocrites in business?
He finally pulled himself together and swallowed hard, I could see the up and down movement of his Adam’s apple as he convinced himself to buy regardless of the price, but not without a fight first.
“I’ll give you #70, last price, no negotiation, take or leave,” he said.
It was a fair offer, but the guts! No negotiation? He had to be kidding, and I needed to keep my cool.
“You know” I started, “usually how this works is you give me an offer, I consider it, if it’s not good enough, I give you another offer, if you don’t like it still, you give me a better offer than your first. Usually, that’s where bargaining ends and we settle”
“And…why would I want to go through all that? He asked with a smile that sat pretty in his eyes, making the corners of his lips dance as he spoke.
Was it pride or he was just being funny? I couldn’t pick one. I packed his cake, he paid for it and walked off.
I was suddenly pissed. All the guys that have been at my stall, often came with one joke or another, teasing and asking for my number, but I paid them no mind. And then came one I even dared to have small talk with, and he just waltzed off, not showing any interest in me.
The bake sale was a success, I managed to sell off everything on my table and then decided to join the fun for a bit. Bazaar ran from morning after the Mass till nine or ten at night, depending on when the auction sales closes.
“Hmm, I’m surprised that people still have this type of money to spend on something they could get cheaper at the market, but I’m also disappointed honestly. It used to be much more expensive than this” I was saying to the person seated next to me.
“Yeah, so I’ve heard” he replied.
“You’re not a parishioner?”
“No, I’m visiting”
“Oh!” I could hardly make out his face in the dark, but his voice was encouraging which made me eager for a conversation, I deserved one real conversation for the night, after forcing myself to play it nice with strangers all day.
“So where are you visiting from?” I pried.
“Lagos”.
“Where in Lagos?”
“Where do you know?” I could tell he was smiling.
“Nowhere” I chuckled and he laughed.
“Well, how do I begin now?”
I waited a moment for more, but that was all he said. I decided that was a clue that he wasn’t particularly chatty, just being polite. I brought out my phone from the black tote bag hung on my shoulder to check what the time was, it was 9:30 pm.
“I should get going,” I said, and as I looked up from my phone, the light from my screen shone on his face. I had been talking to the guy who bought the last cupcake without icing.
“Hey!” he said, when he saw my face.
“Hey,” I responded dryly.
Continue in the next chapter…coming soon!
Hey, do you like the story so far?
Let me know what you think and would you want to read more of my stories or you prefer my opinion writings?
Don’t forget to follow and subscribe to be notified whenever I publish a new piece.
And also, buy me a coffee as a way to encourage me, ok?
