It wasn't easy either. Why?
Because life was communal
and everyone seemed to be in your business.
It was a nice hard.
A hard I couldn't live without.
My grandfather was frail and old
and so was the shop I sold in.
It looked like it would fall any time.
Many people called me Mufasa,
just because the goods in my shop, wait for it,
moved faster.
I was famous and everyone would rather come
to my baby of a shop
than go to the new supermarket in town,
woe to the other small shops in the vicinity.
I liked this interest.
But again, it's not like I hadn't worked for it.
I had put in an effort to befriend every customer,
even the little kids.
Those ones, I would surprise them with sweets,
once in a while and as nature would have it,
they had to come back, naturally for more,
sent or not; with need or none.
This one mother came, this one time,
and yelled at me.
"STOP GIVING THEM SWEETS!"
& it was simple frustration in all honesty.
Small gifts gave me a huge demand.
For some reason,
I always knew what people wanted
depending on the time they visited the shop..
and it was a nice place to read newspapers, too.
(I always had a couple from the previous week,
the daily ones never reached in time)
News and affairs about the village
would always get to me.
People knew where to get it too
so they'd flock outside my Kibanda
and tell stories for ages in the evening hours.
I would join them occasionally,
when there was less traffic of people to the shop
that could actually buy something.
That bench, has to be the cradle
of all the funniest stories in the world.
We were so creative and anything someone said
was an absolute rib-breaker!
We'd laugh so loud and create a scene
that everyone wanted to become a part of us.
There was a different energy of positive vibes
and every one among us felt at home.
We were family.
& loyalty, we bred.
It wasn't easy,
because everyone had their different ambition,
but we found common ground.
A place where we leveled out.
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