[quote author=FoxyRebirth post=14181947]The market swirled around her like rough seas. But she was an old hand, skilled navigator, not easily driven off course by petulant winds. She knew where everything was. Green vegetables. Melon seeds. Fresh tomatoes. Palm oil. Her regular suppliers waved at her the minute they spotted her, Customer! Customer! They knew her proportions and chipped in the obligatory extra. Sometimes she haggled over it. Is that all you can add? Eh? You are not treating me well o. I’ll find another customer o. Faking offence. Haba customer! Faking concern. Why you go talk like that? Okay, take. The so-called ‘jara’ was always insignificant – one more red tomato, maybe half-a-handful of egusi - but it still tickled.



She knew where everything was, everything except snails. It had been a while, and there was a provisions store where she used to see them in the past. She bought some spaghetti off the cuff, and tins of corn beef, but they didn’t know where the snail sellers had gone. Nobody seemed to know where they’d gone, till someone waved a hand with wriggling fingers in the general direction of the older section. “Madam, go that way. When you reach you will see a woman with a wrinkled hand, selling pepper. Ask her. She will show you from there.”



Off the main road, here the foot gathered dust. Uju went past rows of stalls. They were loaded with fruits - pineapples, oranges, mangoes – and their minders sprinkled water over them to keep them wet and shiny. She ignored the boisterous solicitations, calling her over to take a look at foreign banana, wonderful coconut, watermelon wey get enough wata for ‘im body. The little boy followed her closely, pushing the things she’d already bought in his rickety barrow; his smile like a partly open garage door. She’d counted at least four missing from his upper teeth.



Rice pyramids now. And mountains of beans. They rose out of iron basins on either side of the narrowing path. It was as compact as concrete, beaten solid by trampling feet. There was barely enough space for two lanes of traffic, so you walked behind the person in front of you till you had to overtake them. Uju was hesitant. Those behind started swinging past. She’d never come this far into the market before. A woman looked up over a mound of yellow garri. “Yes, madam? You wan buy?”

She moved closer, out of the way of streaming traffic. “Please, do you know where I can buy snail?”

“Wait!” The woman dusted both hands on her thighs. “I have. Just wait. I coming. I go bring it.”



She dashed off before Uju could react, legs moving like skittles underneath her faded wrapper. Uju sighed in relief. There was a wooden stool beside the basins of garri. White garri. Yellow garri. Red garri. Packets of cassava flour hung from nails across the top beam. Another woman had a screaming baby on her back; she was bent over sweeping, rocking the child at the same time. A tiny cloud of dust travelled down the path, coating everything. Uju turned her face away and leaned as much of her body as she could manage underneath the stall’s protruding zinc roof. But a stab of sunlight still pierced her shoulder.



Where the hell was that woman?



She re-appeared, like she’d heard the thought, a scraggly looking dog trailing behind her, waving a black plastic bag. Uju was already reaching into her handbag, when the thought occurred to her. She looked up. “Let me see.”

“Eh?”

“Let me see it.”

The woman came nearer and held the bag open.

Uju jumped back. “Jesus!” Her hand flew to her throat. “What is that?”

“Snail…” The woman waved the bag again. “Snail.”

“Snail?” There was a winged creature of some sort in the bag. “Is that not a bat?” And it wriggled as well.

“Oh…” The woman looked into the bag. “Not snail? Okay, okay. I have. Wait, just wait- I go bring it.”

Uju didn’t. Madam! She ignored the pleas. So you want to use bat hand and bring me snail? No o, please. After a good distance, as far away as stamina allowed, she stopped at another stall.



“Please, do you know where I can buy snails?”

“No.”

This one sold tiger nuts and seemed to be having a bad day. From the way she slouched on a low stool with her chin in her hand. Hardly even looked up.

“Okay. Do you know the woman with the wrinkled hand that sells pepper?”

“Mama Tom George?”

“I don’t know her name.”

Now, the woman sat up straight. “Why are you looking for her?”

“Somebody told me…”

“Are you Police?”

Uju stopped. “What? No I am not Police.”

“Does she owe you money?”

“No.”

“So, why are you looking for her?”

“Someone said that she knows where I can buy snails.”

“It is pepper that she sells. Not snails.” The woman squeezed her brows. “Who is this person that sent you? Is he Police?”



Uju put her hands on her hips and looked up. There was a crooked corridor of bright blue sky visible between the edges of extended stall roofs. The tiger nut seller was still scrutinizing her. Her barrow boy was standing with some other barrow boys under the shade of an abandoned stall. Uju sighed.



They left the grain sellers behind, now deep in the underbelly of the endless market. Many abandoned stalls here, wooden wrecks with collapsed roofs, amongst tables of yams and cocoa yams, sweet potatoes and gold-skinned plantains. They were much cheaper than the ones you found at the entrance. Uju filtered her search more carefully this time. She walked up to a woman that looked as distinguished as market conditions allowed.



“Mama Tom George?” The woman nodded. “Yes, she’s just over there.”

“Ah! Thank you!”



The old woman sat on a low stool. There was a small hill of red pepper in front of her, with four rusted tins. One still held the ghost of a Peak milk wrapper. She used her good hand to spread the pepper evenly across the tray and then wiped the red stain on a rag around her waist.



“Yes?”

“Good afternoon, mama”, Uju said. “Please, do you know where I can buy snails?”

She scooped up a tin of red pepper and emptied it into a plastic bag. Then she tied up the bag and held it up to Uju.

“No, no”, Uju shook her head. “I don’t want pepper. I’m looking for snails.” She raised her voice slightly and spoke much slower. “Do you know where I can buy snails?”

“Ah! What kind of nonsense is this?” The old woman’s voice cracked like a dry whip. “Please, pay me for the pepper now. Which one is this?”

“God.” Uju rolled her eyes skywards and gasped. “I don’t want pepper. I’m looking for…you know what? This is not worth it.”



She threw her hands up and turned around. Then she felt a tug, it almost ripped her skirt; Mama Tom George had caught a handful of hem in her wrinkled hand and pulled her back. “Where do you think you’re going? You make an old woman like me shovel pepper into a bag for you and now you refuse to pay for it!”

“Eh?”



Do you struggle with an old woman, grab her diseased looking hand and prise it off your skirt? What if she snatched it off completely? Do you then tiptoe out of the Friday market with your designer blouse and cream-colored pant? Mama Tom George started screaming. Uju looked around alarmed, struggling to rid herself of the wrinkled grip. But other traders came quickly, faster than a rapid response unit. And they had no ears for explanations delivered in graduate english. She was still arguing. Someone shoved her in the back. She stopped arguing, started pleading- fine, okay bring the pepper, I go buy am. But they marched her down a side path, to a beaten shed where three dusty looking policemen were seating.



After listening, one of the policemen flicked an eye over Uju. “You look like a dignified person, madam. Why are you here stealing pepper from this old woman?”

For God’s sake, is nobody sane in this market? But Uju kept that thought to herself; focused on getting out with life and limb intact. “I didn’t take any pepper from her. I was just asking her if she knew where I could buy snails!

Please where can I get tiger nut milk processing machine. Not blender ooo.