HiveComb

Balogun market was already in full swing by the time Mama Chinedu parked her car at the lot. I checked my time; it was 8:00 a.m. Even though we were very early, voices were already rising over each other, sharp and urgent.

The air smelled of foodstuffs and sweat. The heat from the market that morning was already the strong kind that settles on your skin and refuses to move. A woman somewhere behind us was shouting the price of her wares like her life depended on it.

Mama Chinedu stepped out with her usual aura and headed straight into the market as if she owned it. In her hands was her list. I followed behind her, carrying our empty bags like I always did, trying not to lose pace with her.

Soon, we were moving from stall to stall, buying things without stress. Greeting people as we knew them before. If there was one thing I noticed about the Yorubas in my years in Lagos, it was that they valued respect a lot. It was their culture.

Like is a master in the game. Mama Chinedu swerved through the crowd, laughed at the sellers ' jokes even though they weren't funny, and bargained price expertly. I, on the other hand, only opened the sack bag for foodstuffs to be thrown into it.

We had almost finished when she stopped at a crayfish stall tucked near the back of the market. Almost at the outskirts.

Inside sat a plus-sized, loud woman in a faded yellow blouse, her wrapper tied high across her chest. She was deep in conversation with the woman beside her who was a customer.

“I’m telling you,” she said loudly, shaking her head, “people in this market these days have no fear of God. Cheating customers, selling fake things. God is watching them. Every single one.”

The other woman nodded sharply while her eyes were still glued to the crayfish bag the seller was measuring. “God will judge them o."

I almost nodded too. I've been the type not to support cheating.

Mama Chinedu greeted her with a smile. "If only people would understand this. If someone pays for goods it's just right, you give them their money's worth." She said, "Madam, I want a kilo of crayfish."

The woman’s face opened into a wide smile. “You're welcome, Iyawo (our wife)." The woman replied playfully, as if she knew Mama Chinedu from somewhere. "I don’t cheat anybody o. What you see is what you get o.”

She scooped the crayfish quickly, almost too quickly, and poured it onto the scale. For a second, I noticed how her hand lingered near the edge of the scale, like she was steadying something. Then she stepped back without looking at our faces, and she announced confidently

“One kilo,”

Mama Chinedu looked at the scale. Then at me. She shrugged her shoulders.

I kept my face straight. It was as if she had noticed something I noticed.

She reluctantly paid, and we moved on, but not out of the market. Just to the stalls down the aisle, she bought tomatoes first then begged the woman to help her weigh her crayfish.

'Eight hundred grams' it read.

I felt something tighten in my chest. An anger that I haven't felt before in a long while.

Mama Chinedu picked up the bag and walked back without saying a word. I followed. I knew exactly where she was going, and like a daughter, I followed her obediently.

The woman saw us and smiled, showing her brown set of teeth. “Madam, you forgot something?”

“Yes,” Mama Chinedu said, dropping the bag angrily on her counter. “The remaining two hundred grams.”

The woman paused and pretended like she didn't understand.

“Two hundred grams? How? But I weighed it before you na?" She denied it

“It’s eight hundred grams. If you doubt me, weigh it again."

Suddenly it felt like all attention was now on us.

“These customers sef,” the woman muttered. “Always looking for trouble—”

“Trouble? You swore on your children, then you cheated me. You'll see the real trouble today if you don't complete my purchase or refund me my money.” Mama Chinedu threatened without raising her voice. Without moving her ground. But her words were firm and landed hard.

The woman held her gaze for a moment, then looked away.

Without another word, she scooped more crayfish and added them to the bag. No apology. No explanation. She placed it on the scale and added more.

'One thousand pounds, ' it read this time, then she pushed it towards Mama Chinedu like it was just another transaction and turned immediately to the next customer.

Mam's Chinedu turned to me and smiled. "Let's go." She said to me,

Quietly, I followed her and we walked away. We could hear her voice as we walked, talking, telling someone else about how dishonest people had become.

I frowned. “She didn’t even apologise,” I said at last

Mama Chinedu scoffed. “I know,”

“And she’s still talking.”

"Still lying you mean." Mama Chinedu adjusted the bag on her arm. “Hypocrisy of the highest order.”

I shook my head.

We kept walking. Until finally we were out of the market and on our way home.

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