Ebiere worked as a tailor from the small front space of their house. Her customers called her "Madam Sharp Needle," not just because of her skills but because she never hesitated to insult any customer who tried to underprice her.
"You wan pay me 2k for that style wey Mercy Johnson wear to wedding? Na cloth you bring or miracle?"
But her favorite customer was Timi, the soft spoken pharmacist who lived across the street. He always brought her fabric with chocolates tucked inside and smiled like someone who knew he had no business being that fine. Her siblings had already started calling him "our brother-in-law" behind her back.
One Saturday evening, during a neighborhood ludo tournament hosted by Mr. Tamuno (with the grand prize of a carton of Indomie and bragging rights), Timi sat beside her.
Timi: You never let me take you out, Ebi.
She rolled her eyes. "You dey see the country? Where we wan go, Timi? NEPA don off light, POS no dey work, and you wan go restaurant?"
Timi: I go bring candle and jollof rice. We go sit for balcony.
Ebiere laughed, and for the first time in a long while, she felt something like hope.