The heat in my room makes me uncomfortable which happens all the time and the snoring of my father is the alarm clock that wakes me up every morning. My siblings competing for space in a small room meant for a couple yet shared by seven people packed like sardines in its tin. The morning ritual of my youngest brothers flatulence nauseates me as usual and finally makes me rise up from the concrete floor. Barely do I sleep and yet I have to wake up early every morning to queue up at the well to fetch water for the family members to wash and bath.
There is no chance to have morning devotion so I say a silent amen to the prayer of my Christian neighbours believing God will answer my prayers if I agreed with them and my amen wakes up the rooster that is supposed to wake me up in the morning in a compound where survival instincts is a strategy to be at the top of the food chain. I quickly take the water to the house and have a bathe and gather my load as is my norm as my mother has primed it for me. I count the bottles of groundnut that my mother has filled and they are 15 in number and off I am again for yet another days struggle. My name is Onyinyechi but I am known as groundnut girl where I spent most of my time.
This struggle for survival started the day my father lost his job in the civil service and he wanted the best for his children just like every other loving parent but his dreams were dashed because he chose not to do what his colleagues at the office did; a man of principles, an honest and, a hardworking man, yet a poor and jobless man. Poverty pushed his only daughter into groundnut hawking.
My mother barely trying to make ends meet has served as the bread-winner in the family and she hawks bread and tea on the streets just to make ends meet and keep her family on its feet. My siblings are in school as these are the sacrifices we have to pay to make sure their future is not truncated.
My day is pretty much the same chasing down Prado and Hummer jeeps that I always have fantasies of entering and dodging KEKE NAPEP and taxis driver and receiving insults from stingy people who think that my groundnut is too expensive.
But the most fun and adventurous part of the day is when the men of the task force come around. They are sent to hunt us down like we are prey and they are the predators. They always try to impound our goods and the moment one person sights them, he alerts everyone and we run for our dear lives. It is a struggle everyday between the actors (hawkers) and the villains (task force) and as we all know actor no dey die.
Chasing down the taxis and jeeps is no easy feat especially when we have to collect our change regardless of the amount and due to my experience I am one of the fastest people on the street. Some jokingly tell me I can represent Nigeria in the All African Games; a joke I find really amusing.
The day gradually draws to a close and unlike those with white-collar jobs, my job is not a 9-5 job as I close when the streets close. The good thing about being a groundnut seller is that I am my own boss. The street is my office and I am my own accountant, manager, marketer and security officer all rolled up in one. Isn’t that great?
I go to the tree near the sidewalk which is more like an association of traders where all sorts of goods are sold ranging from recharge cards, wristwatches, tie, shirts, underwear, shoes, umbrella, walking stick e.t.c you name it. The streets of Nigeria is like a mini-mart because you can find anything there. We are like a family as we look out for each other and especially away from the prying eyes of the policemen who are always envious of our daily earnings.
Carefully, I separate the N5’s from the N10’s and the N20’s from the N50’s and realise that the highest denomination I have is N500. At this point, my accounting persona has to come up and be at its best. I lick my finger and they work their magic moving swiftly and better than a money counting machine as I count my earnings. I do this five more times to be sure I get it right and the figure is two thousand four hundred and seventy-five naira only just twenty-five naira shy of two thousand five hundred and that would have being my new record.I carefully pack my goods and I’m off to my house.
My siblings welcome me home with hugs and smiles and a rusted metal plate of meatless soup of four days and garri my mother prepared awaits me which is just beside the candle. She gladly takes what I have earned and she says nno nwa m… i meela oo. My father sighs with disgust and curses the government for his misfortune as my mother mentions the amount of money I had made that day.
After a nice meal, my day ends the way it usually does as I easily take my space on the floor beside my brother as has being allocated to me and this space seems to be very comfortable like it was tailor-made for me.
I shut my eyes and replay the activities of the day…. Groundnut Girl!!! Groundnut Girl!!! Groundnut Girl!!! re-echoes in my head. Yes; that is what I am and I am proud of it as the struggle for survival continues.
