2 years ago still seems like a dream of the night that lasted for just two minutes. As an early riser with two children, the first thing on my mind that day after our morning devotion was to prepare for work. Which work, you may ask, I am a commercial roadside trader that sells a heap of Okirika clothes (second-hand clothing) along the Ikeja railway tracks. Nothing keeps me so motivated to work other than my children, ever since their dad, my husband passed away two years ago from a stray bullet while easing the liquid waste out of his body over a run-off pavement.
The baton of living and catering for the family affairs was passed on to me even when I was caught unawares and not ready for this race alone. This business of mine is where our daily feeding depends solely on, since family members deserted us.
On that fortunate day, I got to work, my usual spot, clearing and arranging my goods from the rusted wheelbarrow, scabbashing and praying down heaven to take total control of the day’s activities around here. But not too long, at exactly 8:30am when I was packaging a large quantity of clothing for a customer that worth fifty thousand naira with excitement in my heart, I heard gunshots. “Poka! Poka!! Poka!!!”, the gunshots continued. There was pandemonium everywhere as people scattered to seek covering.
Just before the gunshots, I had already handed over the packaged goods to the customer about to receive my money in exchange, just to hear gunshots from no where. Everyone was racing for cover, the customer I had just sold clothes to was high on her heels holding my fifty thousand naira cash. Now, I was left with two options, either to pursue the customer to collect my money that could feed my family for one full month as well as shield myself from the stray bullet that killed my husband or pack my goods in my wheelbarrow watching the customer running away with my money and get covering… what should I have done? Please advice me.