Published via Ecency

Grandma had always been the one to go to the market to shop for food items, with me tagging alongside. She never missed it, it was more or less a ritual for her, not only to stock up on food items or to sell some of her wares, but to also catch up on gossips about some recent happenings in the village. It was the only social centre they had.

But on this Eke market day, Grandma was down with mild fever and woke me up before the first cock crow. She requested that I go to the market to buy some foodstuffs.

"My bones are weak today, Nne,” she said, pressing my hand gently. “You will go to Eke Market for us.”

"Grandma, alone, me?" I asked my eyes blinking with unease.

"Yes, alone dear child! I know it's something you can easily do." She winked at me.

She smiled tenderly at me and reached for her old cloth bag. “You’ve watched me long enough do it. I know you will do well.”

"But Grandma, I don't know what to buy and I can't remember everything, and I don't know how to haggle for price—i won't be able to do it alone." I complained.

"Don't worry, you are eight years now, it's high a time you started learning how to, you will soon become a woman." Grandma chuckled.

"Get your book and that your very sharp pencil, to write a list of what you'll be buying from the market."

I reluctantly did as she said and sat down beside her. I tore a piece of paper from the centre of my exercise book and wrote carefully as she called out the items one after the other, making sure to get the translations and the spellings right.

"Ehen.... write "Ofe igbon", that meant "palm oil."

And then she continued;

“Okra.”
“Crayfish.”
“Onions.”
“Garri.”
“Bitterleaf.”

Then I waited, ready for the next one.

Then she said, “Ogiri isi.”

I froze, I had never known the English name of this local flavouring—just the all too familiar smell that wrinkled noses and made our soups an unforgettable experience.

I looked at her, confused.

“Ogiri…” I echoed.

She chuckled. “Just write "ask Mama Udoka", you will at least remember where we buy it from."

So, I scribbled on the paper – ask Mama Udoka.”

At her request, I repeated the list back to her. Satisfied that I had written everything, she nodded approvingly.

"When buying Okra, take the slim ones, not the fat ones, they cook faster."

"Press the onions slightly, if it depresses, don't buy. The smell of the crayfish must be fresh, the agbono too, they all must smell very fresh........" And on and on.

I wore my clothes and my new slippers. I tied my hair like Grandma would have, and picked up the basket.

At the market, I became more confused, my initial confidence evaporating. This was a beehive, with everyone shouting at the top of their voices and children crying for their mothers to get them some treat.

Then I remembered Grandma's words;

"Don't let anyone cheat you, show them how smart you are. Let them know you are a chip off the old block."

That was all the encouragement I needed!

I touched, smelled, haggled like I see her do, surprising even myself. One seller smiled and said, “Ah, Mama has taught you very well, you are talking exactly like her."

“Yes, she did.” I answered proudly.

the list became my compass. I moved through the crowd with shaky feet but a proud heart. I read the names aloud to the sellers, clutching the note like it held my future.

When I reached Mama Udoka's stall, I whispered, “My grandma said to collect ogiri isi from you.”

She laughed heartily. “So she sent her lion cub today?”

She wrapped the pungent treasure in leaves and added a wink. “Tell her I gave you the smelliest one—just like she likes it.”

With all the items tucked into my raffia basket, I did one last thing. I stopped by a corner stall where second-hand books were sold. And there it was—Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe. I had heard my teacher mention it several times and I was very eager to go through its pages.

The book cost the exact amount I had left from our change.

I bought it.