THE ORANGE SELLER

THE ORANGE SELLER

I had never seen an aboki so fair selling oranges. You could tell that his shelter for a long time had been under the sun. But the fairness was still obvious. He stood there under the bridge with his wheel barrow filled with unpeeled oranges, waiting for descending customers. I was attracted by the yellow oranges and so I walked up to him to sell me four for a hundred naira. And this was how I noticed many things about this man and in turn, learnt something from him.

He had mastered the art of orange peeling after so many cuts on his fingers. He peeled them like they were his tender little babies; one in less than a minute. This was not one of those abokis you’ve seen selling fruits. When he asked me how many I wanted, his pidgin did not give him away to any tribe. He sounded like a man of no tribe and had the looks of a middle aged maybe from Chad. He still had his low dark hair with baby curls even though signs of baldness were becoming obvious. He had on an Ankara pant just a bit below his knees, a plain white shirt and those rubber black slippers that had gone through his bad days with him. In all of these, he never looked or smelt defeated.

I did not know when I asked him to make it a two hundred naira buy. Maybe it was because I wanted to study the orange peeling course or study the peeler. His face stood there at peace with the scorching sun, at peace with his peeling knife and so gentle attending to me. And then I asked:

“you like this work wen you dey do?”

“Ah sister… (smiles) You get choice to like your work for this side? Even if I no like am wetin I fit do? I must work”

I understood then that he had not just been in the business for long; he had grown to love it. Amidst the cuts and the elements he remained strong. I wished he would be under a shed with a radio by his side and a bottle of water to quench his thirst. I wished so many things for this man as I continued watching him. The speed of his peeling did not subside even when another customer came to buy oranges. He finished peeling mine, added one FISI and thanked me cheerfully. As I walked away, he called out and waved at me and I waved back. My question must have been the only care, concern, human love…that had been shown to him that day for I saw his teeth and they made him look younger, happier. As I strolled on, I was approached by a crippled aboki begging me for money… I was glad when I got home and tasted the oranges. They did 

not just look sweet, they tasted sweet.

Although they sell oranges, fruits, vegetables, yams, suya, water, glasses, gala, drinks; we call them hawkers, they are at their places of work. Treat them well even if some do not deserve it. We all can’t have the life we want; we can only try to have it.

A Shared Experience...