There
were eyes on me. Brown eyes, Black eyes and Hazel eyes. Sometimes the eyes
whisper to themselves, questioning me, accusing me, judging me, their tones
were derisive but I could hardly hear. I only could see the faces and sometimes
the faces spoke more than those words.
The
weight of those eyes unnerved me and made my legs shaky. I sauntered more than
I walked and avoided the gazes of the men and women that sold their wares in
the market. They sold vegetables, legumes, fruits and foodstuffs. I had come to
buy, I am a customer yet their looks of suspicion did not waver. It was not
about my physique because I was neither too beautiful nor too sexy, certainly
not a cynosure of all eyes. When I walked past a reflective tinted mirror, I
glanced at a reflection of myself and could see that my makeup was perfect. It
helped that I did makeovers as a part-time job while I waited for a
white-collar job.
When
I reached the section of the market where they sold what I wanted to buy, I
paused and looked down. The scenes were threatening. A massive sea of heads of
men, for I could see no woman there. Some of the men bent down while others
stood, some gesticulated wildly while others laughed uproariously. The smell of
onions pervaded the air. As I drew closer, one man’s eyes met mine and he
pleaded with me to patronize him. He was an aging frail man with a thinning
hairline. He sold onions, cabbage, carrots, tinned baked beans, salad creams
and tomatoes but not what I had wanted to buy.
“What
do you want to buy?” His question sounded aggressive to me. His eyes challenged
me to tell him what I wanted that he does not have.
“Never
mind Sir, you don't have it?”
“Is
it cucumber that you want?”
The
question startled me and I looked away and started to leave.
“Don't
worry Dear. I don't have it.” His voice was placating “There was a rush in the
last couple of weeks. Hundreds of women invaded the market and bought hundreds
of cucumbers at frankly exorbitant prices. I kept asking what they were doing
with it.” He came round to his wares with a bowl of water and started
sprinkling the cabbages and carrots and vegetables but not the onions.
“They
only told me it was nutritious...right now, I doubt if you can see cucumbers in
the market.”
“Ok
Sir. I will look around” I took some steps away from his shop and could hear
him asking a neighbor what he thought I needed the cucumbers.
“Maybe
she has high-blood pressure? You know the doctors recommend it.”
Their
voices trailed away as I moved away from their shop to another located twenty
meters away from theirs. This time I met a hatted man. The hat was an
embroidered round black hat and he was aggressively munching carrots when I
walked in. He was missing his two front teeth and his belly looked bloated,
like he would be delivering a set of twins in a very short while. He also wore
a flowing black jalabiya. My eyes searched his shop for the cucumbers but
couldn't see any.
“You
want cucumbers?” He asked while crunching his carrot but didn't wait for an
answer from me before he continued “I don't have cucumbers but I have Plantain,
Cassava and Banana which Nigerian musicians believe could be as nutritious as
cucumbers.”
My
heart skipped a beat and I quickly beat a hasty retreat away from the kiosk of
the hatted man.
The
next shop I entered was that of another man, bare-chested with his pack of abs
glistening with sweat against the midday the sun. He was fully-bearded and wore
a tight tapered trousers that left little to imagination. He was handsome, powerful
and self-assured. He did not speak to me but I could see cucumbers in his
kiosk, more than I needed. Yet he was silent.
“I
want some cucumbers.” I said.
“Which
size do you want?” He did not even blink and his dreamy brown eyes captivated
mine. “The big ones, rough-skinned. I don't want the smooth ones.”
“The
smooth ones do not often make sense.”
“Yea
yea” I agreed.
The
man started coming closer towards me and held me by my shoulders and shook me
strongly.
“Chidimma!
Chidimma!” He called me by my name. I became scared. How did he know me and my
name?
“Chidimma…”
His voice changed into my mother’s insistent, gruff voice.
I
was jarred awake and away from the handsome, nearly-naked, cucumber seller.
“When
are you going to buy the cucumbers I sent you to buy since morning?”
I
yawned and stretched.
“Queen…I
bow to your throne." She gave me an elaborate obeisance "Sorry to disrupt your beauty sleep but it's 1pm”
“Mama,
Uchendu can buy them please, I don't want to go out.”
“Your
younger brother will be pounding the fufu that you hate pounding with an
inordinate passion while you go and buy the cucumbers for your father.”
My
father eats the cucumbers for medicinal purposes. My mother insists on its
since she read from a health magazine that cucumbers are actually lifesavers.
According to my Mama, Cucumber could extend my father’s lifespan by at least
twenty years which Mama do not joke about since she was a full-time housewife
and Papa is the breadwinner, the fufu-winner and the cucumber-winner since the
money to buy even Mama’s airtime comes from him.
“I
will pound the fufu today.” I blurted out. I was not happy about that but I
would rather kiss the devil’s behind that day than go to the market to buy
cucumbers.
“Are
you sure? Chidimma, I ma na ume isu utara adiro gi”
“Mama,
I am going to the kitchen now to start boiling the fufu.” I said and started
heading to the kitchen while my mother trailed me, shell-shocked and mystified.
I was going to pound fufu for the first time in my life rather than trek for
ten minutes to a neighbourhood market to buy cucumbers.
She
will not understand. Even cucumber will not want to buy itself during these
times. Going to the market to buy cucumbers during these end times is akin to
walking into a sex shop to buy some unmentionables.
Mr.
Cucumber will understand.
