I was chatting with a friend earlier this week and in between texts, she wrote, “adulthood Issa scam”, and I thought, girl, you spoke the truth. Adulthood was supposed be like a beautiful episode of Hannah Montana, filled with laughter and romance and friendship, not to mention, adventures and freedom as well. But No, the adulthood in real life, is looking more like a cancelled Zee tv series. But anyway, we are still here, aren’t we, that speaks for something.
This week, I decided to venture into the life of a business woman. I mean, I am twenty three, started working recently, planning on having a family in the future, in essence, I need to get my “shit” together. So of course, I pleaded with mama doctor into escorting me to the famously dreaded “balogun/Lagos market”.
No kidding, the way that woman moves in and out of nooks and crannies in that market, aware of where exactly pants are sold and where toothbrushes are sold; those who sell in wholesale, the expensive ones, the cheap ones, the bend-down select ones, I wonder if I truly came from her genes, because, even with a gun to my head, I doubt I’d be able to locate more than a handful of places in the market.
All that being said, I got dressed and the words which greeted me from my mum were “where is your bag?” I was stunned because, Ideally, my mum is my bag. She is the responsible one, the adult, the mama doctor, the vault of the family. She is the one who keeps our money and phones so airtight in her handbag that we feel secure while roaming the streets of the market. And then she said, “you are going with a purse? I’m going with a purse too”, which in translation meant, “you are holding your own money in the market today, so you better carry a bag because you are on your own”. That was my first welcome into the life of an adult wannabe business woman.
I did learn a few things though. I learnt that bargaining is a gamble, and sometimes, you’ve got to put ego aside, in order to get what you want. One of the first spots we stopped at, some beautiful clothes were sold at a ridiculously high price. As a typical Nigerian of course, I tried to price down, the seller declined, and then following in the footsteps of my mother, we decided to walk away from the man, secretly hoping he’d call us back to sell at a more reasonable price. Well, we kept on walking and the distance between us and the man kept getting longer. Let’s just say, we walked until we couldn’t see even his shadow anymore, and He still didn’t call us back. I should have been patient and bargained when I had the chance.
We spent roughly 2 and half hours, roaming the streets of the market, bargaining, shouting “don’t touch me“, saying “I don’t want to buy (aka, leave me alone)”; picking clothes, discussing which is prettier, and at the same time resisting the temptation to use my phone in the market and also holding onto my bag tightly because, in the words of Ellie Golding “anything can happen“, and I didn’t spend 2 months doing alternate day hospital calls only to say “I lost my salary in Lagos market”.
At the end of the day, I got some really amazing clothes which I pray will sell, I didn’t become another instablog9ja story of a young woman who burst into tears after losing her phone and her salary in Lagos market; and I burst into laughter each time I remember my mum, telling a receptionist “you see!” For making a mistake, despite apologizing for it. At least, she didn’t complete it by telling him “you see yourself”, in front of everyone.
Until next time, I hope you have a lovely weekend filled with love, laughter and coffee of course… see you on Tuesday at our coffee date In sha Allah.