Ade stepped into the supermarket, the fresh smell of candy and some type of lime-scented cleaner contrasting drastically with her corpsey feeling. The sun outside was so vicious, she needed a moment to see clearly inside. She closed her eyes and stayed rooted near the door, taking several deep breaths as the air-conditioner revived whatever life force she had left within. People seriously needed to understand the difference between a stone’s throw away and a full-on gold-medal-winning javelin throw away.
Ade opened her eyes. The supermarket boasted long rows of goods that smelled like rich people’s problems. She thought of her account balance and groaned: grimy markets and shops promised low prices, but air-conditioned, neat places did not. How bad could it be though, right?
She rubbed tired eyes and felt her energy wane. She had not expected to still be out by now. A quick trip to the shopping centre close to her home had turned into this desperate hunt, on the torrent that was day two. She thought briefly of a coke and dismissed it – consuming sugar pretty much equated to begging for the tsunami.
She turned when someone cleared their throat to her left. She saw amusement in the pretty eyes of the man bent across the crowded counter. Some part of her realised it might be amusing to watch someone zombying in your shop, but the irritable side of her prevailed. She sent some eye daggers his way because, how dare he look at a lady this way? Rude.
He straightened, knocking a pack of chocolate to the ground. ‘Crap.’
Ade put her handbag in a locker, took the key and stomped down an aisle. She scanned shelves and shelves. There seemed to be no rhyme or rhythm to their arrangement, because why in the world was corned beef next to deodorant?
‘Where is it?’
She spotted tissue paper and went down that aisle, as this seemed like a logical enough move for someone sane, but the organisers of this place clearly were not. She shuddered at the sight of tampons congested together, not only was it more expensive, the horror stories she’d read about them kept her well away.
‘Tissue, tampons, pads. Someone had some sense here.’ She sighed. ‘Thank heavens,’ she said, when she spotted her preferred brand, or rather the only brand she could use because, once a month, she became a walking river.
For some reason the shops near her house had not stocked it, and the sellers kept offering her supposed dupes. Oh she’d tried those before and ended up all shades of stained. No, she remained loyal to her brand, thank you.
She reached for a pack as her eyes slid to the price scribbled on the white paper below the section that housed it. Ade retracted her arm and squinted, there was simply no bloody way. She pushed at wisps of hair that had slid down from her bun.
‘Five thousand naira?’
She felt strongly that if she moved away from this masculine energy she would find a lady. But a few minutes later she saw another man stocking a shelf. Was today some kind of only men at work kind of day?
Nope, no way in hell. There was a mistake, and she was going to get someone to fix it. With her energy rapidly draining, she went in search of a lady shop assistant, because if one of the ‘chosen folks’ passed a snide comment right now, she would scream.
She saw a guy sweeping, moments later she saw another mopping. She turned, deciding to walk in the opposite direction. She felt strongly that if she moved away from this masculine energy she would find a lady. But a few minutes later she saw another man stocking a shelf. Was today some kind of only men at work kind of day?
She crept back to the counter and grabbed a two-hundred-naira-sure-to-be-trash chocolate, paid the tall man with the pretty eyes, and crept back to the pad shelf.
Ade scowled, tore open the wrapper and bit into the chocolate. She thought sourly of Y chromosomes.
‘Hey.’
She jerked. Pretty Eyes was suddenly beside her.
‘Is everything okay?’ he asked. ‘It seemed like you were looking for help.’
‘Huh?’ She looked up and saw cameras. ‘Oh, umm… I’m good thanks.’
‘Anything I can do to help?’
‘Sure. We can exchange chromosomes.’
He raised a brow. ‘What?’
She bit into the chocolate. ‘My Y chromosome didn’t fight hard enough, it rolled over and let the second X kick it in the butt.’
He smiled. ‘Genetically some women are XY.’ He held up his hands when she glared at him. ‘Sorry, sorry.’
‘How does it feel to be God’s favourite?’
‘Like every regular Tuesday?’
Her lips twitched. ‘You monster.’ She pointed to the packet of pads. ‘Is there a mistake with the pricing?’
‘Nope. The company moved out of Nigeria. It wasn’t profitable for them anymore.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yes. The cost of producing outside, our exchange rate, custom—’
‘-So that’s why shops close to my place aren’t selling it anymore.’
He gave a sympathetic smile. ‘I’m sorry.’ He tapped on a box of pads with a weird non-English name. ‘My sister says this is a good alternative, and it’s only a thousand naira.’
It probably wasn’t, she thought. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be trying to sell the more expensive things here?’
‘Every product has its profit.’
‘You don’t make as much though.’
‘Maybe not.’ He stood in silence as she munched on chocolate and stared at pads. ‘Would you be more annoyed than you already are if I asked for your number?’
‘Probably.’ She swallowed. ‘But I might decide to swing around some other day, and get this trash chocolate again.’
He nodded. ‘You can even come and yell at me if this alternative is crap.’
Ade snorted. ‘There’s a high chance it will be.’
He grinned. ‘I work Wednesdays and Fridays.’
Ade nodded, but didn’t move. He stood beside her in some kind of silent support. Some men did get it, she supposed. She bit into the chocolate and thought a little more fondly of Y chromosomes.
Oiza Zuriel lives in Nigeria with her mom and siblings. She loves animation and dreams of her work getting turned into one. Every week she puts out a piece of fiction on her substack blog, to check this out visit oizazuriel.substack.com. You can find her on twitter @ oz_zuriel.
Illustration via Unsplash.