One Quarter
Vendor’s stand is sandwiched on the patch of untarred land space that lies right in front of Mama Kapo’s furniture-making shop, parallel to the uncovered gutter beside the Main Road.
Vendor will never move his stand closer to the Main Road because of the horrendous stench that comes from the gutter. The gutter reeks of “soak away”, sewage drained from the nearby residences and offices.
For their customers’ ease, Mama Kapo and Vendor “contributed” last year to have a sturdy wooden plank built across the gutter. Their customers walk on this plank to come to them, instead of having to “fly over” the gutter.
Vendor arrives by 6am sharp every morning. If he is earlier, it means he managed to secure a lift from his house neighbour, the taxi driver, Mr Kenneth. But even when Mr Kenneth will not be plying his route, Vendor is still on time.
When he arrives, he branches to Sisi D’s spot to buy his “usual”, 200 naira’s worth of dundun and akara. He buys the fried potatoes when they are in season, but he never buys the dodo, because they are always soggy. He always tells Sisi D to put the spicy sauce only on the dundun; it should not smear the akara. He does not like it when it smears.
This is his only meal for the day, but he eats it in portions. He buys some bread later on in the afternoon to eat with the akara. Sisi D occasionally gives him some fisi, to bribe him, in exchange of some ragged newspapers to wrap the finger foods in for other customers.
Vendor sets up his yellow MTN tarpaulin umbrella. No one ever mistakenly assumes that Vendor sells credit because he uses that umbrella. Vendor is Vendor, the one who sells newspapers, the only one around.
He stacks his newspapers carefully on the wooden table which he has laden with blue tarpaulin to protect them from moisture. He is also fastidious, stacking PUNCH next to THE GUARDIAN, never letting THE NATION leave its corner position, keeping P.M. NEWS and DAILY TRUST side by side always. When he is finished setting up, he begins to scrunch the ballooned side of an old bike horn, so his customers can know he is around.
“Today’s paper! Today’s paper! Messi or Ronaldo, come and read who won the Ballon d’Or. Come and read the Premier League club rankings. Government regulation for fuel scarcity. Hurricane in America. All in today’s paper! Today’s paper!”
As dawn lifts, customers congregate around Vendor’s stand. Occasionally, some mobile customers patronise him. But the majority of his customers are pedestrians who specialize in “early morning football analysis”, particularly young and middle-aged men.
“Alaye, shut up; let us hear word. How many goals has he scored this season? How many championships has his club won? No dey blab. If you will even compare him to one random player in a club at the bottom of the Table, that makes sense. Don’t compare him to the champions.”
“Look at this one. What do you know about the hallowed game of soccer? Do you even know what year it was invented? Tell me, what do you know about the technicality and complexity of making successful transfers? Do you know what it takes to be a strategic coach? Just because you win those cheap bets in the viewing centre where other ignorant fans like you register to predict match scores, you assume that has made you an informed football analyst. Step up bro. When men are talking football, small boys should keep quiet. Don’t just be an empty barrel. Invest in the facts. Invest in the rich history of the game. Invest in quality.”
“What are we saying, what are you saying? When did this one start to watch ball that he is talking like this? What do you know? Oga, park well! When we start to ask you deep questions about Premier League or Champions League now, that’s when all your grammar will finish. If you don’t know football, let those of us that know it talk. Don’t come and be blabbing here. If na so you fit do the football analysis reach, why has SuperSport or ESPN not employed you? You for go apply for job there instead of coming here every morning to talk rubbish with big grammar. Nonsense. Oga Vendor, abeg give me newspaper make I read jare.”
This is not uncommon to Vendor. The buzz is good for his business. As arguments stir, some other customers want to read the papers to validate the facts. He just works hard to ensure that no argument goes out of control, so the Police do not arrest anyone for causing commotion.
It is, however, shocking to notice Mama Kapo with two policemen this early in the morning. She charges into her shop battle-ready, tightening her ankara wrapper and shouting, “Where is he? Where is he? Wherever he is, tell him to come out here!”
Vendor quickly steps aside to ask her if everything is okay. She says it will soon be. He walks back to his stand.
“Yes, officers, that’s him. His name is Patrick. He is the one I told you of, the thief. He has been my apprentice for two years now, and for those years, he has been stealing my money. This time around, I have had enough. I will not allow one useless boy to ruin the business I have built with my hands from scratch. Abeg, arrest him.”
Patrick is mute, reeling from the shock. Vendor can hear him ask Mama Kapo what the problem is and why she did not address it with him first before going to the Police. Mama Kapo is short-tempered; this is not the first time she is threatening her apprentices this way.
Vendor is surprised nonetheless because Patrick is an extremely hardworking apprentice. He is the reason why Mama Kapo’s regular customers have not completely vanished, despite her belligerent nature.
Vendor goes again to check Mama Kapo’s shop. He can hear them argue back and forth, Mama Kapo accusing him of theft, Patrick denying the allegations. The policemen leave, stating that if Mama Kapo has more substantial charges to level against him, she should come to their Station and write a statement instead of wasting their time.
Vendor asks Mama Kapo yet again if everything is okay. She says that Patrick has been balancing her books wrongly. Vendor asks about the specific issue.
“Thank you Vendor. You will not be unfortunate. This boy, Patrick, he is the one who does the bookkeeping. Yesterday I observed that there have been consistent errors in the yearly calculations since he came to work with me.”
“How so, Mama Kapo?”
“He only reports about three months of the year when writing the Quarterly reports.”
“How is that wrong, Mama Kapo?”
“Haba, Oga Vendor. Abi you too you no go school? One quarter is 1 part out of 4. It means Patrick has been stealing the profits of the fourth month, right under my nose.”
“Mama Kapo, ha. You almost got the boy arrested just because of this?”
“Vendor, what are you even saying? If you are here to take sides with him, please just respect yourself and go back to your newspaper stand o. I cannot be having a conversation with someone who wants to pat a thief on the back or rub their head.”
“But Mama Kapo, Patrick did not steal your money. That is what I am saying. One quarter of the year is actually 3 months. The math is easy: 12 months of the year, divided by 4, that gives 3.”
“What? Oga Vendor? Ayé mi ò! It means my former apprentices have been cheating me. All this while, they used to ask me to provide funds for a maintenance budget every quarter, telling me that a quarter is made up of 4 parts just like a dozen is made of 12 parts. Ah, Vendor, they have killed me!”
“Oh no, Mama Kapo. They have not killed you. I suggest you just humble yourself and go apologize to that young boy whom you humiliated this morning. You thought he had been stealing from you but he had been saving you from further losses.”
“Ah, Oga Vendor, ojú tì mí. I am ashamed. An experienced business woman like me, making such a stupid mistake.”
“Mama Kapo, we all learn every day. Just make it up to Patrick and learn from your mistakes. I am going back now to my stand. Someone wants to buy a paper.”
Author’s Note
For this piece, I was thinking a lot about everyday people whose good deeds may never make front page news, the ones who show steady tenacity and commitment to their mundane, lowly jobs, even when their future prospects are grim. Parodying the typical heated football argument required some imagination and recollection from memory, but it turned out fun and informative.
