balconies.
‘Hello?’
I stood at the doorway, blocking the sunlight and peering into the dim room. There was nobody at the till. I glanced at the four aisles of goods and the small freezer humming in the background. The place wasn’t dusty, or dirty or untidy. In fact, everything was neatly arranged, the products lined up in barrack-straight rows. Still you could tell business was slow.
‘Hello?’ I said again, walking to the end of the shop. The shelves were stocked with tinned food, detergent, toothpaste, bread, cereal and, against the wall, a freezer crammed with ice cream. In the last aisle, I saw a woman sound asleep on a stool. Her body sagged round the stool seat, allowing her to balance without leaning on anything. The hem of her starched boubou swept the floor, the skin of her round face relaxed around her jaws. On the white scarf wrapped around her head were the words ‘women’s prayer conference 2006’ printed in bold. I cleared my throat loudly and she opened eyes that were large with sleep.
‘You must be Aunty Precious.’
‘Yes. And who are you?’
‘I’m a hawker,’ I said, reducing my volume to match hers.
‘You don’t look like one.’
‘Yes and this is because, today, I come as something more than a hawker. I come as—’
‘If you’re here to sell me something let me remind you that you are in a shop.’
‘I know. And this is why I’m here because—’
‘And if you’ve come to buy anything from me, I’ll give you some advice. It’s cheaper at a wholesaler’s. Wait, I’ll write an address for you.’
When she stood, I saw she would have been petite if not for the weight that gathered round her hips. She walked to the front desk and wrote on a piece of paper.
‘Thank you very much. This is not what I came for,’ I said, tucking the slip into my pocket.
‘Then why are you here?’
‘I have a business proposal.’
‘Why didn’t you say so?’
I was well rehearsed by now. I had made my proposal almost ten times that day and each time it sounded more natural. I delivered my pitch with my hands behind my back, making eye contact half of the time.
‘And so,’ I said, rounding up, ‘this is why I know it would be in your best interest to become my partner.’
‘Why do I need you? How do you know I’m not happy with my profit?’
‘You might be happy but you’d be happier if you made more. Also, your business needs to be taken to the next level.’
‘Why do I need to be taken to the next level?’
‘Because you are not – are not maximising your potential.’
‘And how do you know this?’
‘Because:
‘There are few gaps on the shelves.
‘The products are too neatly arranged for people to have shopped here recently.
‘The floor is clean. Customers would have brought dirt in.’
She laughed, a low, throaty laugh that bore no relation to her appearance. ‘I’m impressed. I’d be even more impressed if there wasn’t a flyer in the window announcing the store is closing in two months.’
I walked outside the store and looked at the window. There it was. A large red poster saying in black block letters: CLOSING IN TWO MONTHS .
‘You’re a good boy,’ she said when I came back in. ‘As you now know, my shop is closing down. Neither of us can stop that from happening but I will hire you for the eight weeks I have left.’
‘Thank you. You won’t regret this.’
‘Eight weeks only. Is there anything you want to ask?’
‘Since the shop is well-stocked, why don’t I start hawking some of the things you have now? We can split the profits sixty–forty. Of course you would be taking the sixty per cent.’
If she didn’t agree, it would be the end. No one was going to consider my offer. I knew that now. The wholesalers wouldn’t take me back. I would go home and spend my savings on Dettol, soap, cereal and bread. In fact I didn’t have to go home. I could spend them here.
‘How about you
‘Hello?’
I stood at the doorway, blocking the sunlight and peering into the dim room. There was nobody at the till. I glanced at the four aisles of goods and the small freezer humming in the background. The place wasn’t dusty, or dirty or untidy. In fact, everything was neatly arranged, the products lined up in barrack-straight rows. Still you could tell business was slow.
‘Hello?’ I said again, walking to the end of the shop. The shelves were stocked with tinned food, detergent, toothpaste, bread, cereal and, against the wall, a freezer crammed with ice cream. In the last aisle, I saw a woman sound asleep on a stool. Her body sagged round the stool seat, allowing her to balance without leaning on anything. The hem of her starched boubou swept the floor, the skin of her round face relaxed around her jaws. On the white scarf wrapped around her head were the words ‘women’s prayer conference 2006’ printed in bold. I cleared my throat loudly and she opened eyes that were large with sleep.
‘You must be Aunty Precious.’
‘Yes. And who are you?’
‘I’m a hawker,’ I said, reducing my volume to match hers.
‘You don’t look like one.’
‘Yes and this is because, today, I come as something more than a hawker. I come as—’
‘If you’re here to sell me something let me remind you that you are in a shop.’
‘I know. And this is why I’m here because—’
‘And if you’ve come to buy anything from me, I’ll give you some advice. It’s cheaper at a wholesaler’s. Wait, I’ll write an address for you.’
When she stood, I saw she would have been petite if not for the weight that gathered round her hips. She walked to the front desk and wrote on a piece of paper.
‘Thank you very much. This is not what I came for,’ I said, tucking the slip into my pocket.
‘Then why are you here?’
‘I have a business proposal.’
‘Why didn’t you say so?’
I was well rehearsed by now. I had made my proposal almost ten times that day and each time it sounded more natural. I delivered my pitch with my hands behind my back, making eye contact half of the time.
‘And so,’ I said, rounding up, ‘this is why I know it would be in your best interest to become my partner.’
‘Why do I need you? How do you know I’m not happy with my profit?’
‘You might be happy but you’d be happier if you made more. Also, your business needs to be taken to the next level.’
‘Why do I need to be taken to the next level?’
‘Because you are not – are not maximising your potential.’
‘And how do you know this?’
‘Because:
‘There are few gaps on the shelves.
‘The products are too neatly arranged for people to have shopped here recently.
‘The floor is clean. Customers would have brought dirt in.’
She laughed, a low, throaty laugh that bore no relation to her appearance. ‘I’m impressed. I’d be even more impressed if there wasn’t a flyer in the window announcing the store is closing in two months.’
I walked outside the store and looked at the window. There it was. A large red poster saying in black block letters: CLOSING IN TWO MONTHS .
‘You’re a good boy,’ she said when I came back in. ‘As you now know, my shop is closing down. Neither of us can stop that from happening but I will hire you for the eight weeks I have left.’
‘Thank you. You won’t regret this.’
‘Eight weeks only. Is there anything you want to ask?’
‘Since the shop is well-stocked, why don’t I start hawking some of the things you have now? We can split the profits sixty–forty. Of course you would be taking the sixty per cent.’
If she didn’t agree, it would be the end. No one was going to consider my offer. I knew that now. The wholesalers wouldn’t take me back. I would go home and spend my savings on Dettol, soap, cereal and bread. In fact I didn’t have to go home. I could spend them here.
‘How about you
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