Picture is mine
'Details' I get flashbacks of my days as a tailor whenever I hear this particular word. It's a small, seven-letter word but worth a lot in the world of fashion. If you're in or have been in the world of fashion, you'll clearly understand what I'm talking about.
But nope, I'm not the kind that has that kind of patience, and at times it costs me the beauty of my work.
Well, that was the beginning of my journey as a fashion designer or tailor. And that was way back.
I recall Emeka, my very good friend, who was my coach in the fashion world, then yelled to me one morning, "I've always told you, guy. Pay very good attention to the little details. Now you're going to sew a new garment for your client."
I sat there, head down, looking downcast. If only I had ignored the urge to do quick work and been patient enough, I would have noticed the mistake and probably avoided it. Now I have made a very terrible mistake and have to start all over again. From getting a new fabric down to cutting and sewing, I wasn't going to deliver such dirty work with rough details to my client if I was going to retain him. That clearly means there is no profit from the work done.
"I'll talk to you when I'm back. I have to get to the market before the sun gets hot," I replied to Emeka, stood up and left the shop.
The sun was beating mercilessly on the asphalt; I could feel the heat emanating from it. No matter how hard I tried to get to the market early to avoid the hot sun,I still couldn't. I pushed and jostled for space with other road commuters in the bustling market.
The calls of "Hey fine boy, I get material you go like (I have materials you'll like)" from traders trying to cajole me to buy from them filled my ear. I ignored them all; like a faithful customer, I knew where I was going, and I wasn't going to be cajoled into buying from another fabric seller.
Just a stone's throw from his shop, I saw him standing outside his shop. His name was Mr. Okechukwu, a fabric trader in the market. He was known amongst me and my colleagues for his keen eye for details and his ability to find the perfect fabric for any customer—the exact reason we buy fabrics from him.
But on this particular day, Mr. Okechukwu did something that I didn't believe he could do.
I walked up to him while extending my hands for a handshake. He smiled and returned my greeting. "Nwanne (brother), I was almost wondering if I will sell market at all today," he said, his native igbotic intonation clearly heard as he spoke. "Thank God you came. Make me sell something fit to see food chop (at least I'll have money to buy food)."
"So na my money you want to chop with (so it's my money you want to eat with)," I teased.
He laughed and replied, "So na my material you want to sew with (So it's my fabric you want to sew with)."
We both laughed. He led me inside his shop as I grabbed a seat and sat down.
Just then, he noticed a new customer, a young woman. One could tell she was a novice in that fabric world from the way she looked at the fabrics. She seemed so eager to find the perfect material for the dress she was making.
"Nwanne (brother), give me a little time; let me attend to this fine girl," Mr. Okechukwu asked me.
I only nodded and proceeded to fondle my phone while dividing my attention from eavesdropping on their conversation.
I heard the young woman explain in detail the kind of fabric she wanted to buy. It was a clear confirmation to me that she was still an apprentice who was sent to purchase fabric by her boss. And Mr. Okechukwu kept nodding his head in concurrence.
"I have exactly what you were sent to buy," Mr. Okechukwu said. I watched as he entered the shop in search of the fabric. But as he returned, he returned with something similar but different. The fabric had the same texture and colour, but as someone who was familiar with fabrics, I could tell through the details that the quality was different.
I watched as Mr. Okechukwu sold the lower-quality material for the price of the original. Smiling like one who has just robbed the bank, he said to me, "It feels like God does not want me to go hungry today."
"After you just scammed that girl, you're attributing it to God," I replied with a mean look. "You clearly know she was a novice; she explained everything to you. You clearly know that the details she wanted in that material you gave her are different from the ones she wants, but you still sold it to her at an exorbitant price," I asked him.
"Na, my luck, (it's my luck)" was all he could reply.
"E no good, na wickedness (it's not good, it's wickedness). If you can scam that innocent girl, how am I sure you've not been scamming me? What if she loses her job because of that?" I added, disappointment in my voice.
I bought my fabric in silence from him and left. I'm sure he noticed my contempt as he tried to give me a discount, but I refused.
As I left his shop, I swore within myself never to buy from him again.