Suya|Chimezie Umeoka

(Short Story by Chimezie Umeoka)

Ada knew where she could get the best suya. She loved it dry, crisp, yet tasty and juicy when the meat had been ground in the engine of her mouth. She rejected all the sellers who called on her as she clambered through the bulb-lit abattoir. She had made up her mind to always patronize the man who made the kind she loved. After all, it was for nothing that they said a good market is meant to be bought a thousand times.

‘Fine girl, come and buy from me,’ a suya seller called out to her as she passed by. Ada played negligence and threw her face straight to where she was going. She kept moving past the men, and the farther she went, the more victims she added to her compendium of rejection. At this hour of the day, most of the suya sellers were desperate to sell all their suya to prevent having any remains, which could sour before the next sun crept up in the blue orifices of the sky to announce a new dawn. 

Close by to where she was headed, a different suya seller ran out from his stall and held Ada's hand. ‘‘Habibi, come and buy from me. I sell the best here; I don’t lie for you, Allah,” the man swore, with a strong northern accent. 

Ada looked up to him. His face, lighted by the glow of the yellow lamp hanging above where they stood, had a facade of melodrama. Ada saw the dark spot dotting his forehead and knew that the man was a bona fide Muslim and that it was enough to trust him. She remembered the day when, as a child, she had asked her mother the meaning of the spot. Her mother had told her that it was due to long hours of bowing to Allah and that the darker the spot, the more faithful a Muslim could be said to be. Ada had found it funny as a child then, because she was a Christian. But as she grew, admiration clouded her initial perception. She admired them because she lacked faith now. She found it hard to believe in God. Sometimes she hated herself for it; she hated that she prayed to God with guilt in her heart. A guilt formed by her vague faithlessness. And so, being able to see people do what she was unable to do, and with serious faith, stirred the bowels of her admiration. 

‘‘I have a customer, so sorry.’’ Ada said, forcing her hands off the man’s grip. But the man still held on to her. 

‘Fine girl, first experiences are important, oh. Ah, if you chop my suya today, you go come tomorrow.’ The man persisted. 

It was never Ada’s intention to be rude, but she yanked herself away from the man's grip and walked out on him, leaving him standing like a rejected lover on a rainy night. The other suya sellers began to laugh at him from a distance. Their laughter echoed to Ada’s hearing, and she laughed intuitively too. She was unable to feel pity towards the man. These days, Ada doesn't know how to feel things. 

Ada got to the man's shop. His stall stood on the farthest end, which always made Ada ascertain that, truly, the best of things lay in the far end. One could perceive the acrid smell of dead cows now because after the man's shop was a hall where, during daytime, cows were unalived and sold in parts to butchers. Stacks of bones were piled up against the wall, and they appeared as morbid to Ada. She began to think about how, a few hours ago, these cows must have been alive. It was so ironic because everyone would soon degenerate into bones like these cows, either through cremation or after our condemnation to the deep grounds. 

‘Good evening, sir. Abeg, give me two thousand naira worth of suya, a very dry one,’ Ada said, smiling at the man. ‘Na, because of you, I reject all the other men, oh.’

‘Ah, madam, I dey sorry oh, my suya don finish. I sell am pinish now now.’ The man glowed with concern on his face. 

Ada felt reality dawn on her like morning dew kissing the dryness of the earth. She ranted about eating suya. It was the only sensible thing she craved for this night. Suya was a subtle alternation between junk and fresh food. She hated junk because she had had a lot of it. She didn't crave fresh food because these days, one has to spend a fortune to buy a satisfying amount of food. And she didn't plan to cook either. Somewhere in one corner of her mind, she knew that she had made an enemy out of all these Hausa men, and if she ever went back to any of them, it would be with a sense of shame. She had made a prodigal out of herself. 

‘Make I carry you go for my customer chop eh madam?’ The man offered. 

Ada refused. She had to take care of her mess. She walked ahead to the suya seller who had initially held her hands. As she stood before the man's chop, his gaze was enough to convey to Ada his new resentment towards her.

‘Oga, I want to buy suya,’ she muttered. 

‘Madam, dey go, I no dey sell again. Carry your wahala dey go. Yeye woman.’

Ada was stung by the harshness of the man. She still blamed herself, but she never expected him to react this way. Just as she made to leave, the other suya sellers began to laugh loudly at her. Their laughter was so loud. They began to hurl insults at her. And as she left the abattoir, she felt ashamed, hungry, tired, and desperate. But above all, she felt like none of this was her fault. She felt it was unnecessary for nemesis to occur in small situations.