Chapter 3

Rahab

Yellow oranges have to be nature's comic relief or some sort of dramatic irony in the very least, because, if they're called Oranges, why then are they yellow in colour? 

I'm pondering this silently as I fill the display basket on the fruit aisle of the "organic farmers market".

Yes, it is every bit as pretentious as it sounds. You'll not believe the amount of haughty snobs that come in here on a daily basis looking to buy oranges at N141.99 apiece or Spinach leaves for N138.99 a bunch, when they could get double, heck even triple that amount from any local roadside merchant at that same price. If I didn't work here, I wouldn't even be here.

But really who am I to judge? I only man the cash register and occasionally work the aisles if someone calls in sick and management can't find a replacement soon enough. Ha! I'd love to believe that's the reason why, not that we are over worked (and quite frankly underpaid), because our boss is a calculative miser...

"Clean up on Aisle 7!" the speaker blasts. The voice is unfamiliar, maybe we have a new comer, a new employee. Aisle 7 is at the farthest end so, I don't have to bother about clean up, someone else will do it, somebody closer preferably.

Finishing my arrangement quickly I go out back to toss the fruit crates along with the others before coming back to man my station. 

Its a Tuesday, and an especially slow one at that, customers trickle in quietly and as a result I have just two people coming my way, A woman and a younger man, maybe mother and son from the looks of it. (I got in on the game almost immediately I started working here. 

If you could guess the relationship of the customers, you'd earn yourself Brownie points or bonus points or whatever. Of course you'd have to write it down as proof you didn't cheat though, I never really participated with the others, but sometimes it was fun to do in my head. I don't mean to brag but, i'm usually almost always correct).

The younger man doesn't look to happy, he doesn't look miffed per say, merely bored and lethargic. The woman pauses at a little distance and checks out other stations, we're only three as it is and I expect her to go over to someone else because I don't really have the most welcoming face to be honest. 

Our boss had thrashed me during our last meeting for that. He said...and I quote;

"Rahab, you look tired and uninviting and you have an almost permanent frown on your face. How do you expect to attract customers to you when you look that way. You should try smiling more or else you'll be relegated to clean up! If you weren't so pretty, you'd be doing that by now. For God's sake, you're nothing more than a child and you already look like a 40 year old woman." 

My face went hot and i tucked my hands deeply into the pockets of my jeans wishing the ground would open and swallow me— if only wishes were horses. 

'Forgive me if I look like a 40 year old woman, but I have a 40 year old woman's responsibilities Sir!' I wanted to scream back but of course I wouldn't. I needed this job, besides the stuttering wouldn't let me get a word out, so instead i clamped my mouth shut and hoped the tears in my eyes were as a result of an incoming stroke not embarrassment.

"Please ring me up" I heard and was immediately jolted back into the present. So the woman chose me after all? I feel a small tug in my chest and force my best fake smile, while I ring up her items, it's the least I can do... Really.

Mint leaves in a small plastic mesh bag, about 3grams, 2 small crates of ginger, a medium sized sac of potatoes, Moringa leaves...

"You're very pretty!" The woman exclaims all of a sudden placing a meaty hand on my arm and startling me. 

I drop the second crate of ginger just as i am about to scan its bar code for price and flinch at the distressing physical contact between us, but if the woman notices this, she doesn't acknowledge it.

Instead she just turns to her son and says 

"Andrew dear, doesn't she look absolutely stunning... Like Agbani, do you know Agbani? I don't think you were born then, she was former miss world, in the year 2001. Can you believe it? Of all the buxom beauties all over the world, a Nigerian emerged the top, the overall winner!" she explains threading her hands in his, speaking wistfully. 

He looks up at me and squints closely as if he's trying to see the resemblance, i catch myself  meekly on the reflective surface of the cash register at my workstation but he doesn't answer, just shrugs in indifference, "I'm sorry, don't see the resemblance too" I mentally agree.

I return silently to my task and after adding up the figures on the register, now that she has finally released my hand, I inform her of her total bill to which she gasps loudly clearly affronted. 

At first it seems like a joke but it all becomes clearer by the second, that, this woman , whoever she is, is not playing around.

"This is outrageous!" She yells theatrically, i reflexively jerk back away from the amount of attention she's either consciously or unconsciously drawing. My coworkers and the few customers present look up and stare hungrily at what is unfolding.

"Don't worry..." her son says 

"...I'll cover you" with that, he proceeds to bring out his ATM card.

She protests weakly, but its clear she's pleased with the development, after a while. What in God's good name just happened?!

"Do you have a POS machine here?"

He asks in that bored voice of his looking everywhere else but at me. I nod and bring out the POS, entering the details and giving him to enter his code, the deal is done. I half expect the card to be declined because I don't really trust the pair of them, not with what just went down... Trust me, I've seen it happen many times before.

Now the woman is clinging to his arm seething at me. What the...? I package the goods and hand them over to him without saying the mandatory;

"Thank you for shopping with us, do come back again soon"

"Oh, thank you so much baby, what would I do without you? Caring for me all the  time, covering my bills like a true gentle man" she croons reaching out to peck him, but he moves his head at an awkward angle and she catches his lips instead.

Mothers are allowed to kiss their sons on the lips, in public... Right? Right?? 

My eyes go wide and then heat fills my face before I realize i'm staring and decide to focus on something else, the ground, the lights, the 30% off banner showcasing our sale items, my red converse all stars, anything else really.

I have to clear my throat to get their attention, his card and receipt are both still with me and I hand them both to him accordingly.

His face looks stoic as he collects it, then he grabs his mom's— er, the woman's hand and stalks off. As they go I hear her say to him

"She's very pretty isn't she?"

I don't really hear his response but I hear her addition anyway, she's quite loud.

"...But not as pretty as I am, right?"

I sag against the table, immediately they're out of sight, everyone has gone back to whatever had their attention before this whole debacle began. 

I lean back using my hands as supports. I take deep breaths and shake my head in an attempt to forget the horror show that was the last 10, maybe 15 minutes.

I look up after a while to catch Seun staring at me. Two workstations down, close enough for me to notice that he's smiling, not with his lips, but his eyes and as crazy as it sounds I smile back to... Just a small one though, in case he's smiling at someone else behind me and i quickly avert my eyes. My stomach feels flurry all of a sudden and I want to throw up. 

I have no business with Seun, beautiful boy Seun, Yoruba demon Seun, Dimpled cheeks Seun, especially with his smile that makes my stomach do summersaults and more especially Loyal boyfriend Seun,  because sadly, he has a girlfriend.