I remember that morning very well. It started like any normal day, but soon it became a little adventure I will never forget. I was only seven years old, and it felt like the busiest and most exciting morning ever. My family still laughs about it whenever we sit down together to chat about the past.
I was seven years old. I sat on our bench, wearing my clean Standard Two uniform, with my blue skirt pressed. My feet were just above the floor, swinging back and forth as I waited for my breakfast. The smell of fried chapati in the frying pan filled the sitting room. Mum was settled on the same bench while she fried them. My stomach made a noise—I was hungry.
When my mum went into the kitchen, where the other clay charcoal stove was warming a pot, I called out to her, “Mum, is the tea ready?” I said it a little louder than usual.
Mum, as calm as ever, was moving around the kitchen, her hands busy. “Almost, darling,” she said with a smile, but just as she reached for the tea tin, she paused, then sighed. “Oh no, Aisha, we’re out of tea leaves.”
“Ahhh!” I said. Black tea and chapati was my favourite for breakfast.
She smiled warmly at me. “That’s easy, love. You can run down to the shop and get me some black tea leaves. It’s just down the road.”
She gave me a slightly crumpled 500-Congolese-franc note. “Buy tea leaves for 100 and bring back 400 in change. And remember, you have about 45 minutes before you’re late for school, so hurry up, OK?”
“I got it, Mum!” I said, slipping the money in my uniform pocket, putting on my shoes and running out the door. I repeated to myself, “Tea leaves for 100 and give me the change! Tea leaves for 100 and give me the change!” With each step I made along the dusty path, the warm morning sun on my face, I sang my task.
A few doors down, a little boy was playing with the brightest red toy car I had ever seen. He was pushing it back and forth, the shiny surface catching the sunlight. I suddenly stopped and called out, “Hey, Kinondo! Is that new?”
He grinned proudly, holding up the car for me to see. “My uncle brought it from Goma,” he said. “It moves even faster on smooth ground. Look!” He bent down and pushed it hard, and the small car went forward quickly, spinning a little as it hit a stone.
I laughed and clapped. “It is so beautiful! One day my dad will get me one like that too.”
“You can try mine,” Kinondo said, offering it, but I shook my head quickly, remembering that Mum was waiting for her tea.
“Next time!” I said and started running again. But I couldn’t stop thinking about the car. I even forgot what I was supposed to buy!
I ran back home, breathing quickly. “Mum! What was I going to buy?”
She laughed softly and said, “Have you forgotten already? Black tea leaves for 100 and bring back the change!” I turned quickly before she could say anything else and set off again, chanting loudly, “Tea leaves for 100 and give me the change!”
“Don’t get distracted this time!” Her voice followed me. A gust of wind blew dust in my eyes as I walked. But I kept going, marching straight to the shop, repeating my task to myself, like a mantra.
On the way, some of the older children stopped laughing when they heard me sing my task. I wondered what was so funny. One of them whispered, “What is she doing?” I felt my cheeks go red. But I didn’t care; I continued on. An older woman smiled at me, her eyes showing kindness. I smiled back as I walked, and repeated my task with each step I made.
The closer I got, the more confident I felt. Until I saw the shop. There were many customers chatting and waiting their turn. I joined the long queue, holding the crumpled note tightly in my hand. Every minute that went by made me more and more nervous.
I pictured Madam Sara, our French teacher, standing at the front of the classroom with her grammar book pressed to her chest. Every day, she would start the class by saying, “Good French begins with good timekeeping,” before writing the date on the blackboard in neat, slanted letters. If someone came in late, she would stop, take off her glasses and say gently, “Being on time is the first sign of respect.” I could almost feel the steady gaze on me as I waited in the queue and wished the line moved faster.
Then, as if the universe wanted to test my patience, a fancy car pulled up outside the shop. It stopped right beside the queue, its paint glimmering like a mirror. The driver rolled down his window and called out to the shopkeeper. The way the driver spoke sounded soft and calm, like someone who never needed to hurry. The shopkeeper quickly wiped his hands on his apron and left the counter, walking straight toward the car. Everyone around me started to shout.
“Hey, we were here first!” a man behind me shouted. “Doesn’t matter!” someone else yelled. “Rich people don’t queue!”
But the shopkeeper didn’t care. His face carried the same easy smile as he took the man’s order, fetched his goods, and handed over the change. Everyone kept murmuring, but he behaved as though he couldn’t hear us at all. I didn’t say anything. I just kept singing my task and tried not to forget this time, while also looking at the shopkeeper.
A cloud of dust rose into the air as the car finally drove away. The shopkeeper brushed his hands against his apron and went back to his counter, humming quietly, like nothing had happened. The people in the queue kept muttering under their breath, but then the old woman in front of me laughed and pointed at me. “Let that young one go next before she forgets what she came for!”
Everyone in the queue turned their eyes to me and laughed, and then another guy said, “Yeah, let her go next!” I felt happy.
The shopkeeper looked at me and smiled. “Come here, young lady. What can I get you?”
I went over to the counter. “I’ll take some black tea leaves for 100 and some change,” I said, handing him 500 francs.
He nodded and went to the shelf to get a packet. But then I noticed it. The shopkeeper… Something about his face. “Hmph,” he frowned. “Sorry, kid. We’re running low on this brand. Let me check in the back,” he said as he hurried off. I sighed. Time was slipping away!
After what felt like forever, he came back with a small packet of black tea leaves. “Here you go, darling,” he said, handing me the tea packet and turning away. I hurried out, completely forgetting about the change!
When I burst through the door at home, my mum looked up with a smile. “Did you get the tea leaves?”
“Yes!” I said, handing her the packet.
“And the change?” she asked.
I froze. “Oh no! I forgot the change!” Before she could say anything, I ran back to the shop as fast as I could.
The shopkeeper laughed when he saw me coming back. “Back so soon? Did you forget something?”
“Yes! The change!” I said, out of breath. I felt bad about my mistake and could almost hear my mum telling me to hurry.
“Here you go, my forgetful friend,” he said, handing me 400 francs with a smile. But I could see the clock hanging on the wall in his shop—it was ticking!
With the change finally in hand, I ran home as fast as I could. I burst through the door and my mum was waiting. “Did you get the change?” she said, her eyes wide with worry.
“Here’s the change!” I handed her the money.
She laughed and shook her head. “You’re amazing, Aisha,” she said.
That evening after school, my parents kept teasing me about my adventure at the dinner table. I felt ashamed, but even now, every time I smell freshly brewed black tea, I am taken back to that morning, the shiny red car, and the 400 francs in change.
