Bukky - S01 E05

Story 2 years ago

Bukky - S01 E05

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 5

Bukky tossed and turned on the almost flat foam

continuously until her disgruntled aunt woke up and gave

her a knock on the head. She rolled to the edge of the bed,

lay still, and massaged the spot where the pain emanated

from. She couldn’t sleep. Thoughts of how her boyfriend

fondled her replayed on her mind over and over again. She

enjoyed been kissed by him. She liked been in his arms. The

deal breaker was that things could really get out of hand.

What if she got pregnant? She was just eigteen and he was

twenty. They were not matured enough to take care of

themselves, talk about a child. She didn’t want to be a baby

mama. It was the trend amongst several teenage girls and

young women in the society. Was it possible to date

someone and be able to prevent getting physically intimate?

How does one control the sexual urge in the face of

temptation? She had no idea that it was going to be that

tough. Living in obedience to God’s word was a whole new

affair when it involved matters of the heart. She cleared her

mind and tried to think about other things.

Her boyfriend was now an undergraduate and in the next

four years, he would be a graduate of LASU, with B.sc in

Economics and Statistics. Where would she be then? If by

chance they were still in a relationship, would her illiteracy

come in-between them? If she really wanted to get educated,

how was she going to finance it? God said in his word that he

had given her the power to make wealth. She needed a very

good business idea. If she began to do something, God would

surely bless the work of her hand. She was not too young to

run her own business. She closed her eyes and began to

pray.

xxxxxx

Kike woke her niece up that morning before leaving the

house to the market place to hustle for her daily bread. The

girl didn’t allow her to sleep the other night. The way she was

turning every five minutes kept her awake. Even after hitting

her on the head in order to caution her, she heard her

praying a storm a while later. If not that the girl was her elder

sister’s daughter, she would have driven her out of the room.

She wasn’t against the prayers, but, it was done at the wrong

time. She should have considered the fact that she wasn’t

alone in the room. She would raise the issue when she

returned home in the evening.

Bukky sat up on the almost flat bed, drowsy and exhausted.

She doubted if she slept for more than three hours. She

scratched a spot on her scalp and thought of loosening her

plaited hair. It would cost her nothing less than two hundred

naira to have it re-done. She looked around for her leather

wrist-watch and found it on the floor. She stretched out her

hand and picked it up. It was several minutes past seven. She

was late. By the time she had her bath and dressed up, an

hour would have gone by. If she met a queue outside the

only bathroom in the compound, two hours would take

flight.

She rubbed her fingers against her eyes and yawned loudly. A

random thought crossed her mind. There was a woman that

lived three houses away from theirs, when she used to live

with her parents. She sold fried bean cake, popularly called

akara. Whenever she was sent to buy some bean cake, she

watched how the woman turned the grinded bean in a big

basin and scooped it into the hot oil. The people that

patronized her used the akara to eat cooked pap, bread, or

garri soaked in water. She heard that the woman was able to

sponsor her children’s education with the business.

Bukky jumped off the bed. Several thoughts and ideas ran

through her excited mind. She could do the same thing. She

had less than a thousand naira in her purse. She could start

with what she had. She would buy a module of beans, a

bottle of vegetable oil, pepper, maggi, salt, what else? She

used to see one of her neighbours with a big black fry pan.

She would borrow it. She needed a coal pot too. How much

does it cost to buy coal and fire wood in the area? She would

find out. First things first, she needed to ask the landlady for

permission to use the front of the bungalow to sell her

wares. What if she asked her to pay? She hoped she wouldn’t.

She paled. The landlady was known to be foulmouthed and

easily angered. She prayed to God for favour.

She slipped into her Dunlop slippers, changed into a blouse

and a skirt and hurried out of the room. She was going to

take the bull by the horns.

xxxxxx

Bukky placed the big black fry pan on the medium size

charcoal stove and re-arranged the coal and firewood

underneath. The pan was borrowed from her neighbour, on

the condition that she returned it washed and cleaned every

day. She hoped to buy one soonest. The yellow light of the

fire began to lick its way around the wood and coal which

cost her a quarter of the money she had in her purse. She

opened the bottle of vegetable oil she bought that morning

and poured it into the pan. She threw the empty bottle aside

and began to turn the mixture of grinded black-eyed beans,

pepper, onions and seasoned with maggi and salt. She had

no more money left. She promised to pay the local grinder

after sales that day. The woman was the only one she owed.

It had been a miracle when the landlady gave her permission

to use part of the frontage of the house to cook and sell her

wares. The woman didn’t even ask any funny questions. All

she wanted was a daily portion of bean-cake. She looked up

to the sky and prayed to God to bless her business.

“Na you dey sell akara for here?” one of her neighbours

approached her. The pot-bellied man was bare-chested and

had a wrapper tied around his weight.

She looked in his direction, “Yes, sir.”

“Very good. How much?” he stood in front of the charcoal

stove.

“Ten naira per one.”

“I want a hundred naira own,” his eyes darted around, “Don’t

you sell bread?”

“No sir.”

“What about corn pap?” he directed his gaze at her sweat

streaked face.

“No sir.”

He scratched his bald head.

“I will start selling bread by tomorrow, and maybe corn pap

later on,” she made a mental note to go to the bakery at the

junction and find out what it would cost to buy hot fresh

bread daily, with or without cash. She might buy corn, blend

it and make the pap herself. Her mother taught her how to

make corn pap before she turned twelve.

“Once your akara is done, please sell a hundred naira own

for me.”

“Okay sir.”

“I will go and buy bread at the junction.”

“Okay sir,” she watched him leave and smiled; her very first

customer. She started to scoop the mixture into the hot oil

with her hand until the pan had no more space. The aroma

of the cooking bean-cake drifted into her nose. She grinned

from ear to ear. She could discern that it was going to be

very tasty.

Thirty minutes later, almost everyone living in the twenty

room bungalow gathered around her, ordering for the akara.

They argued, fought, joked and bought her wares. People

from the houses next to theirs joined them and in less than

three hours, it was sold out. When she counted the money

she made, it was triple the amount she spent that morning.

She had enough to prepare for the next day, pay her debt,

make pap and buy bread from the bakery.

She had her bath, changed into a tee-shirt and a jean,

brushed her hair and set off to the market. She thanked God

as she walked towards the junction. She had a feeling that

her business was going to do very well. Finally, she would be

able to sponsor herself and get educated. It didn’t matter

how long it would take, she would not give up.

xxxxxx

Kike returned home from the market that evening and met

her niece sieving a large amount of corn pap outside their

room. One of their neighbours who saw her in the market

informed her that Bukky’s akara was the best she had eaten

in a long while. She thought the woman was high on

something, until she met someone that lived on the same

street. The man was just dishing out advise without been

asked. She had no idea what her elder sister’s daughter had

been up to, but, it got the attention of many people.

”Good evening aunty Kike,” she looked up at the tired looking

woman in her mid-thirties.

The dark skinned a little above average height woman eyed

her, “Your news travelled all the way to the market and made

me look like a fool. Next time you want to do something,

please let me know in advance. Or have you forgotten that

you are living with someone? Are you the one paying the

rent?” she hissed and marched into the room.

Bukky scrambled to her feet and hurried after her, hands

covered with blended corn. She found her mother’s sister

seated on the almost flat bed, fuming.

“I am so sorry aunty. It all happened so fast…” she went on

her knees, “I am sorry. It won’t happen again. E ma bi nu

ma.”

Kike hissed again, “You are not serious at all. When your

mother sent you to me, what did I tell you? Since I have been

living in this compound, no one has heard my voice. I mind

my own business. I don’t want any problem with anybody.”

“I am sorry,” she sighed heavily. Maybe she should have

looked for her aunt and intimated her of her plans when she

was at the market that morning. Assuming she had a phone,

she would have been able to call her. Or maybe she should

have gone to the lady selling recharge cards under the

umbrella down the street and put a call through to her aunt.

Next time, she would do just that.

“What exactly is going on?” she turned to the remorseful

eighteen year old girl.

Bukky narrated how she started the akara business that

morning. Her aunt advised and encouraged her. She thanked

her and returned to the basin of pap she left outside the

room.