We played chess with their minds

By Onie Ndoro | 11h ago

It was not a good market day.

Mai VaMaidei was down with a fever. At work, a major scandal had broken out. It involved senior management, but somehow seven of us who were mere security guards were suspended until further notice. We had nothing to do with it, yet we were sent home.

With nothing else to do, I found myself at the bustling market, taking over Mai VaMaidei's stall.

Mai Bhobho eyed me cautiously. She had the next stall.

"Where's Mai VaMaidei?" she asked.

"She's at home. Fever," I replied.

She continued watching me. She was far too inquisitive.

It was a common ritual among market traders. Whenever customers were scarce, people simply stared blankly at one another, waiting for someone to blink first. Not me. I always carried a novel. Even when I was not reading, I pretended to. It saved me from gossip.

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Years ago, markets were largely the domain of women. These days, men occupied almost as many stalls. Times had changed.

I spread bundles of covo neatly across a sack on the tarmac and sprayed them with water every few minutes to keep them fresh.

I had watched Mai VaMaidei do it several times before. Beside them, I arranged onions and tomatoes into small pyramids. It was a marvel. I enjoyed creating the display.

The idea was to make customers believe that one pile was bigger than the next. In truth, every pile contained exactly the same amount. It was a silent game between trader and customer.

Some pointed at three or four piles before finally choosing one.

We played chess with their minds.

The morning remained peaceful.

Then, from further down the market, shouting erupted.

I heard angry voices before I saw them, a group of militant-looking men was moving aggressively from stall to stall.

"Be careful," Mai Bhobho whispered. "Trouble is coming."

The problem with Mai Bhobho was that she was not only a fellow trader but also our neighbour back home. She seemed to attract drama the way sugar attracts ants.

"Who are they?" I asked.

I never got an answer.

Three men suddenly surrounded me.

They looked hungrier than a pride of lions. One had bloodshot eyes and moved with the restless swagger of someone permanently high.

Recklessness oozed from him. If trouble was going to start, it would start with him.

"Let's see your party card," one demanded.

"What card?"

They exchanged surprised looks.

I held my ground.

Long ago, I learnt that the streets rewarded confidence.

Show fear, and people tossed you around like an empty plastic bag.

"You don't belong to our party," Bloodshot Eyes growled. "You can't sell here."

Mai VaMaidei had often complained about these so-called party officials.

They were not interested in politics.

All they wanted was money.

Give them cash today, and they would return tomorrow asking for more. They thrived on intimidation, feeding off the desperation of traders trying to earn an honest living.

I had no money anyway. The tension was high. Bloodshot Eyes had a machete I had not seen before. He was trying to bring it out of its sheath. I had a crowbar. It was hidden from view under the sack of vegetables.

I was not sure I would reach the crowbar in time if they attacked. I would try.

An attack was imminent and then I noticed one of them glance towards my back pocket.

His expression changed instantly. He quietly signalled to the others.

Without another word, they turned and hurried away.

For a moment, I stood there, puzzled.

Then I reached into my pocket.

It was a pair of handcuffs I used at work

I had forgotten they were there.

They must have mistaken me for a police officer.

"What did you do to them?" Mai Bhobho asked, staring at me in disbelief.

She had watched the whole encounter.

For a moment I considered showing her the handcuffs.