Sara

Chapter Two

The knock on the door came an hour later. I was sitting on the edge of my mattress, staring at nothing, my tears dried on my cheeks.

"Who is it?" I called, my voice hoarse.

"Na me o. Chioma. Open this door before my leg break from standing here."

I forced myself to stand, and walked across the room. I unlocked the door and opened it to find Chioma standing there, a bright smile on her face that faded the moment she saw my expression.

"Ah-ah," Chioma said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

"What happened? Your face is looking like someone who just lost her last relative."

I closed the door and leaned against it. "Mama Basira came."

"Mama Basira? The woman wey dey sell at the corner? Wetin she want?"

"She wanted her money. The five thousand I borrowed from her."

Chioma's eyes widened. "You borrowed money from Mama Basira? Sara, that woman is a witch. Everyone knows she's a witch. Her interest is like... like a bargain from the devil."

"I didn't have a choice. I was hungry. I hadn't eaten in three days."

"Then you should have come to me. I would have helped you."

"You don't have money, Chioma. You're struggling just like me."

Chioma was silent for a moment. She was a beautiful girl, full-figured, with a face that could light up a room. Her afro was perfectly shaped, her clothes bright and colorful even though they were old. She had a way of making everything look easy, even when it wasn't.

I had always admired that about her. Chioma had been through just as much as me, maybe more, but she never let it break her. She just kept smiling, laughing, and moving forward.

"So wetin happen?" Chioma asked softly. "She take the money?"

"She took six thousand. That's what I owed her with interest. She left me with two thousand four hundred."

"Six thousand? But you said you borrowed five!"

"I know."

Chioma shook her head slowly. "That woman is wicked. Truly wicked. She knows you're struggling and can't afford to lose that money."

"She doesn't care. She just wants her money."

"And now? What will you do about the rent?"

My throat tightened.

"I don't know. I was so close, Chioma. I had eight thousand saved. I thought... I thought if I could just save a little more, I could pay the landlord and figure out the rest. But now..."

I couldn't finish the sentence. The tears were threatening to come again, and I refused to cry. I'd already cried enough for one day.

Chioma stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me. She was warm and comforting presence in a world that offered none.

"Don't worry," Chioma said, her voice gentle. "We'll figure something out. We always do, right? You and me, we're survivors. Nothing can break us."

"Everything can break us, Chioma."

"No." Chioma pulled back and looked into my eyes. "You can't think like that. If you think like that, you've already lost. We're still alive, abi? We still have our health and and each other. As long as we have that, we can survive."

I wanted to believe her. To feel the hope that Chioma was offering. But it was hard. So hard. The weight of everything was pressing down on me, crushing me, and I didn't know how much longer I could hold on.

"Come," Chioma said, grabbing my hand. "Enough of this sadness. We have work to do. The market won't sell itself."

"I don't know if I can today, Chioma. I don't feel like..."

"Does it matter how you feel? Does it matter if you're sad or tired or broken? Hunger doesn't care about your feelings, Sara. So come."

I took a deep breath. Chioma was right. She always was. Hunger doesn't care about feelings. And if I didn't make some money today, I wouldn't eat tomorrow.

"Okay," I said quietly. "Let me change."

I put on my work clothes. It's a simple dress, faded from too many washes. I tied a scarf around my head to protect me from the sun. I slung my bag over my shoulder.

Chioma was waiting for me at the door, her own bag slung over her shoulder, a big smile on her face. She was always smiling. It was one of the things I loved about her.

"Let's go," Chioma said. "The money is waiting for us."

We walked out into the Lagos morning. The streets were already alive with activity. Hawkers selling everything from phone chargers to groundnuts. Buses belching black smoke. Okada riders weaving through traffic like they had a death wish. People were everywhere.

Chioma and I walked side by side, our goods heavy on our head. We passed the spot where Mama Basira's kiosk sat, and I kept my eyes straight ahead, refusing to look. Chioma, though, made a point of waving and smiling.

"Good morning, Mama Basira! God bless your day!"

Mama Basira just scowled and turned away.

"Why you do that?" I whispered.

"Because she needs to know you have people," Chioma said. "That you're not alone. The wicked ones are brave only when they think nobody is watching."

I said nothing. I just kept walking.

The market was already bustling when we arrived. It was a chaotic symphony of sound, the shouts of traders, the honking of cars, the smell of fried plantains and roasting corn. I found my usual spot, a small corner near the entrance where there was enough shade to keep my water from getting too warm. Chioma set up nearby, her large bucket of zobo ready to serve.

For hours, we worked. I sold water sachets, calling out to passersby, my voice hoarse from the effort. The heat of the sun intensified, and sweat dripped down my back. But I kept going, because I had no choice.

"Cold water! Cold pure water! Na twenty naira only! Come and drink!"

Customers bought.

Each sale was a small victory, a few more naira in my pocket.

By noon, my throat was raw and my feet were aching. I'd made a thousand naira. Even though not much. It was something.

"Chioma," I called. "I'm going to take a break."

"Me too," Chioma said, wiping sweat from her forehead.

"This sun is killing me. Come, let's rest under that tree over there."

We carried our wares to a large mango tree at the edge of the market, its branches providing a welcome shade.

We sat down on the ground, our backs against the trunk, while the sounds of the market fade into the background.

I reached into my bowl and pulled out a sachet of water. I tore the corner open with my teeth and drank deeply, the cool liquid soothing my dry throat. Chioma did the same, then lay back and closed her eyes.

"Sometimes I dream about a different life," Chioma said softly.

"A life where I don't have to do this every day. Where I can wake up and just... be. Not worry about where my next meal is coming from. Not worry about rent. Not worry about anything."

I nodded. I dreamed about that too. All the time.

"What would you do?" I asked. "If you could change your life."

Chioma was quiet for a moment. "I would open a shop with clothes and fabrics. I would sell to rich people, women who have money to spend. I would wear nice clothes and go to nice places and nobody would ever call me a street girl again."

"That sounds nice."

"It's just a dream Sara." Chioma said, her voice tinged with sadness.

"In this Lagos, dreams don't come true."

I looked out at the city. Somewhere out there, people were living the life I dreamed of. People with money, and power. And I was here, sitting under a tree, my hands calloused from work, and my heart heavy with worry.

"Maybe one day," I said quietly. " things will be different."

"Maybe," Chioma agreed. "But for now, we have to survive."

We sat in silence for a while, the heat of the day pressing down on us. I thought about my mother and all the things I'd lost and all the things I'd never had. The sadness was like a weight in my chest, heavy.

But then Chioma sat up and nudged me with an elbow.

"Look," she said, pointing. "Mr. Fancy over there. He's been staring at you for the past ten minutes."

I looked. A man was standing near the entrance of the market, talking on his phone. He was tall, dark-skinned, and dressed in an expensive-looking suit. His presence attracted attention, even from a distance. He seemed like he belonged somewhere else far from this dusty market.

"He's handsome, abi?" Chioma whispered.

I shrugged. "He's not looking at me. He's just... looking."

"He's looking at you. I can tell. The way he's looking, he's definitely looking at you."

"It doesn't matter. Rich men don't look at girls like me. I'm invisible to them."

But even as I said it, I felt a flicker of something. Maybe it was just curiosity. Or hope. But whatever it was, I pushed it down. Hope was dangerous and made you weak. And I couldn't afford to be weak.

The man finished his phone call and walked away.

I watched him go, a strange feeling in my chest. I didn't know why, but I felt like I'd just missed something important. Like the universe had offered me a glimpse of something and I'd looked away.

"Come," Chioma said, breaking the spell. "Let's go back to work. The money isn't going to make itself."

We stood up and returned to our spots, the afternoon stretching out ahead of us. I sold more water. And I tried not to think about the strange feeling that had settled in my chest.

By the time the evening came, I was exhausted. Chioma and I met up at our usual spot and walked back together.

"Na good day," Chioma said. "I made almost two thousand naira."

"I made about one thousand five hundred," I said.

"Something is better than nothing," Chioma said. "Tomorrow will be better. You'll see."

I nodded, but I didn't really believe it. Tomorrow would be the same as today. And the day after that. And the day after that. An endless cycle of struggle and survival, with no end in sight.

We reached my street. Chioma lived three houses before mine , in a room similar to mine. She stopped at her door and turned to me.

"Listen," she said, her voice serious. "If things get really bad... and you can't pay the rent... you can come stay with me. Okay?"

I felt tears prick my eyes. "Thank you, Chioma. You're a good friend."

"That's what friends are for," Chioma said. "Now go inside and rest. Tomorrow is another day."

I watched Chioma disappear into the night, then walked to my own house. I unlocked it and stepped inside, closing it behind me. The room was dark, the only light coming from the window.

I sat down on my mattress and counted my money again. One thousand five hundred naira. Plus the two thousand four hundred I had left from before. That made three thousand nine hundred. Still not enough for rent.

I lay back on the mattress and stared at the ceiling.

And I realized, with a sinking feeling, that I haven't eaten today... Nothing was going to change. I was going to be stuck here forever. Trapped in this cycle of poverty and struggle. With no way out. No hope.

I closed my eyes and let the tears come again. And I cried until I fell asleep, the money clutched in my hand.

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TO BE CONTINUED...