Episode : 3 Hunger Forges Resilience
1515 Words
The city looked different from the twenty-second floor.
From Madam Phiri’s office, the skyline appeared controlled.
Organized.
Predictable.
But from the ground, where dust clung to ankles and traffic arguments erupted at every junction, the city was chaotic.
And hunger lived there.
Three days after the meeting, Thandiwe stood outside a busy commercial complex with a plastic table, a borrowed umbrella, and neatly arranged containers of homemade snacks.
Mandazi. Samosas. Roasted groundnuts.
She had woken at 4 a.m. to prepare them.
Flour stuck under her fingernails.
Oil burns dotted her wrist.
This was not humiliation.
This was strategy.
Madam Phiri had been clear.
“Never appear desperate.
Appear industrious.
So she chose this location carefully.
Across the road stood the sleek glass building that housed Victor’s office.
If he saw her, good.
If he didn’t, better.
The first customer approached cautiously.
“How much?”
“Five hundred.”
“Too much.”
She smiled calmly.
“They’re fresh.”
He bought two.
Small victory.
By 10 a.m., she had sold nearly half.
Sweat rolled down her spine.
Her back ached.
But she refused to sit.
A woman from a nearby stall leaned over.
“You new here?”
“Yes.”
“Careful. City council officers pass around noon.”
“Thank you.”
The woman nodded.
“Your husband allow you to work here?”
Thandiwe paused.
“I allow myself.”
The woman chuckled approvingly.
Hunger teaches fast.
Across the street, the revolving doors of Victor’s office spun open.
And there he was.
Tailored navy suit.
Polished shoes.
Phone pressed to ear.
He looked powerful again.
Until he saw her.
His steps faltered.
His voice paused mid-sentence.
For three seconds, they stared at each other across traffic and honking minibusses.
Shock.
Then embarrassment.
Then irritation.
Off he went, cutting the conversation short before stepping across the road.
Her every move closer pressed silence between them.
“You sell food?” he said, voice low.
“Yes.”
“In front of my office?”
“I didn’t notice.”
“You didn’t notice the twenty-story building with my name on it?”
Her chin lifted a fraction as she turned her face just so.
“Oh. That building.”
His jaw tightened.
“This is not necessary.”
“It is.”
“I said I’d send money.”
“You didn’t.”
“I will.”
“When?”
He glanced around.
One walker paused, then another joined. Watching took over their steps.
“You’re embarrassing yourself.”
She whispered a quiet "no."
He was the one who fit that description instead.
A weight pressed down where noise might’ve cracked. Silence took its place instead.
His voice lowered.
“You think this makes you strong?”
“No.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Feeding your children.”
Silence.
A long one.
Behind their backs, engines growled without pause.
Up close, he seemed slimmer. A touch of strain showed in his posture.
“You’re working with her, aren’t you?” he said suddenly.
“With who?”
“Don’t pretend.”
Thandiwe held his gaze.
When words stop, their absence speaks.
A quiet moment carries weight beyond blame.
His nostrils flared.
“You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Neither did you.”
That hit.
He stepped closer.
“Listen carefully,” he whispered. “Madam Phiri destroys people. She doesn’t rescue them.”
“Is that what you’re afraid of?”
His eyes flickered.
A shadow of wheels crept along the pavement just then. The vehicle, sleek and dark, drifted to a hush near the curb.
Tinted windows.
The engine humming quietly.
Victorsaw it.
Now it happens one more time than ever before.
He looked unsettled.
A creak came from behind as the rear entrance swung wide.
Outside came Madam Phiri.
Elegant. Composed. Unrushed.
Her eyes passed over Victor before settling elsewhere.
Her eyes moved toward the snacks laid out on the table.
She tilted her head slightly. Mandazi? she said without urgency.
“Yes, ma’am,” Thandiwereplied.
“How much?”
“Five hundred.”
Madam Phiri handed her a thousand kwacha note.
“No change needed.”
The exchange was deliberate.
Public.
Victor’s throat tightened.
“Good morning, Victor,” Madam Phiri said finally.
“Ma’am.”
He straightened instinctively.
“Interesting location for lunch,” she observed.
He forced a tight smile.
“I was just leaving.”
“I’m sure you were.”
Her eyes rested on him a second longer than necessary.
Then she turned back to Thandiwe.
“Don’t burn them. Keep the oil temperature steady.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Victor stared between them.
The invisible thread was now visible.
And it terrified him.
Madam Phiri returned to her car without another word.
The door shut softly.
The car drove away.
Victor looked at Thandiwe again.
“This isn’t over.”
“No,” she agreed.
“It’s just beginning.”
He stepped back slowly.
And walked away.
But his shoulders were no longer relaxed.
By noon, city council officers appeared.
Two men in reflective vests.
“Permit?” one asked.
Thandiwe’s pulse jumped.
She had none.
The neighboring vendor whispered, “I warned you.”
“I’m new,” Thandiwe said calmly.
“No permit, no selling.”
They began lifting her containers.
Small conflict.
Public tension.
She stepped forward.
“Please. I have children.”
The officer shrugged.
“Rules.”
Across the street, Victor stood at the window of his office.
Watching.
A faint smirk touched his lips.
Power, he believed, had returned.
Then
A second black vehicle arrived.
Not Madam Phiri’s.
Government plates.
The officers froze instantly.
A man stepped out and approached.
“Is there a problem here?”
The officers straightened.
“No, sir.”
He glanced at Thandiwe.
Then at the confiscated snacks.
“Release them.”
“Yes, sir.”
A flash of motion brought the containers back.
They arrived quicker than anyone expected.
Seconds barely passed before they reappeared right where they started.
Fleeing the scene without delay, the officers vanished into the alley.
A moment later, silence settled where voices had rushed.
Into her eyes he looked, that moment silent.
Thandiwe stood still as he faced her.
“You’re cleared for today.”
"Today?" she said, voice quiet.
A piece of cardboard changed hands between them.
She took it without looking up.
“Go to this office tomorrow.”
She looked down.
Municipal Licensing Department.
He leaned closer.
“You’re expected.”
Footsteps echoing, Victor’s grin faded.
Backward he moved, inch by inch, leaving the glass behind.
A weight moved beneath his ribs.
It settled differently than before.
Something had shifted.
It couldn’t be chance anymore.
Later that night, she sat with her money spread out.
Each coin added up slowly under dim light.
Not much.
But enough.
More importantly
It wasn’t pleading that came out of her.
Quiet strength held her voice instead.
She had not broken.
Someone spotted her.
Ruth’s home again, her hands pulling blankets snug around the little ones.
Her eyes met Chisomo's gaze slowly.
“Daddy didn’t hug me.”
Her heart squeezed.
“He will one day.”
“Why?”
“Because he’ll realize what he lost.”
Maybe it turned out right after all.
She hoped that was true.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Madam Phiri.
“You handled today well.”
“Thank you.”
“Victor accessed restricted files again.”
Her fingers stilled.
“What files?”
“On projected company expansion.”
Thandiwe frowned.
“Why would he need those?”
“Because someone is advising him.”
A pause.
“Who?”
Another message came.
“A man named Mr. Dube.”
The name meant nothing to her.
Yet.
Then
“And Mr. Dube is connected to Sera.”
Everything went quiet in her mind.
The mistress.
Not random.
Not accidental.
Strategic.
The war lines sharpened.
Madam Phiri sent one more attachment.
An internal memo.
Victor had recommended a risky investment move.
Large capital shift.
High reward.
High exposure.
If it fails
It would collapse his entire department.
“Should we stop him?” Thandiwe typed.
The response came slowly.
“No.”
Her heartbeat quickened.
“Why?”
“Because hunger teaches fast.”
Her phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered cautiously.
A familiar female voice spoke.
Smooth.
Confident.
“Hello, Thandiwe.”
Her stomach dropped.
“Sera.”
“I think we should talk.”
Silence.
“I’m not your enemy,” Sera continued softly.
“You’re in my house.”
“And you’re in my business.”
The air thinned.
“Meet me tomorrow,” Sera said.
“Why would I?”
“Because if you don’t, Victor won’t be the one who suffers first.”
The connection was cut off without warning.
Thandiwe stared at the screen.
Life outside hummed along, loose and unbothered by what lay within.
A fight broke out once the order came through.
And this time
A figure moved ahead.
The foe was closing in.
- Writer
