Shaba Boss walked into the waiting room of Mr. Ben’s office. True to her type, she amiably greeted the receptionist amidst the bubble gum in her mouth. The front desk girl asked her to wait that he was with somebody. She did. Mr. Ben was an importer of any marketable goods and products, but majored in selling motor and motorcycle spare parts in shops he established in major commercial cities that have big spare parts markets in the country.
When she remembered the funny acts she had had to put up before he cornered Ben’s attention she smiled gleefully. The front desk person questioned her face to find the cause of the sudden chuckles but could not. Shaba was not the a-b-c alphabetical letters written on a black slate for anybody to read.
Last week and to be precise, it was three days ago
