After a brief search, he settled on something simple: a slightly faded T-shirt, plain trousers, and worn sandals he hadn’t touched in years.
He looked at himself in the mirror and laughed.
“If my board sees me like this, they’ll resign.”
By the time he stepped onto the village path, the sun was already rising with quiet intensity.
The village was alive again. Voices. Footsteps. Greetings flying from one person to another.
“Good morning.”
“Welcome back, Namdi.”
“You no dey come again?”
He nodded, smiling politely.
But his mind was somewhere else.
Or rather, with someone else.
The market announced itself before he even got there.
The noise. The movement. The life.
It was a different kind of chaos—organized in its own way.
Women called out prices loudly. Men bargained like their lives depended on it. Children wove through crowds like experts.
And then he saw her.
Amara sat under a large umbrella, arranging pieces of meat with practiced ease. Her movements were confident, quick, and effortless.
“Ah, you came,” she said without looking up.
Namdi paused. “You didn’t even look to confirm it’s me.”
She glanced up briefly, then smirked. “I knew you would come.”
“Confidence.”
“I sell in this market,” she said. “I know serious customers.”
“So I’m a customer now?”
She pointed to the empty stool beside her. “Sit.”
Namdi sat. The wooden stool creaked slightly under his weight.
He looked around, taking everything in.
“This place is intense.”
Amara laughed. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
A woman walked up almost immediately.
“How much for this one?” she asked, pointing.
Amara responded sharply. “Two thousand.”
“Ha! Too much.”
“Then go and price elsewhere,” Amara replied without blinking.
The woman hesitated, then paid.
Namdi raised an eyebrow. “That was fast.”
“I told you,” Amara said. “I know my business.”
A few minutes passed. Then Amara turned to him.
“Why are you just sitting like a visitor?”
“I am a visitor.”
She shook her head. “No. Here, everybody works.”
Before he could protest, she handed him a knife.
“Cut this.”
Namdi stared at it. “You trust me with this?”
“I trust that you won’t run away.”
He chuckled and took the knife. “This is officially the strangest business meeting I’ve ever attended.”
At first, he struggled.
The cuts were uneven. Too big. Too small.
Amara watched him, trying not to laugh.
“Are you sure you run companies?” she asked.
“I delegate tasks like this,” he replied defensively.
“Well, today you don’t delegate.”
Slowly, he improved.
Not perfect.
But better.
And to his surprise, he enjoyed it.
Then the whispers began.
Quiet at first. Then louder.
“Is that not…?”
“No, it can’t be.”
“That looks like Namdi the billionaire.”
People started slowing down as they passed. Some pretended to buy. Others just stood nearby pretending to inspect meat.
Amara leaned slightly toward him. “They are talking.”
“I can hear,” he said calmly.
“You don’t care?”
He shrugged. “Should I?”
She studied his face. No embarrassment. No pride. Just calm.
“Hm. You’re strange.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
A group of young women approached, giggling.
“Good afternoon,” one of them said, eyes fixed on Namdi.
“Good afternoon,” he replied politely.
“Are you helping her?” another asked.
“Yes,” Amara cut in quickly. “Do you want to buy or interview him?”
They burst into laughter and quickly bought more than they needed.
As they left, one whispered loudly, “It’s really him.”
Within minutes, the crowd doubled.
People came with excuses.
“Give me one kilo.”
“Add small extra.”
“Let me just greet.”
Namdi leaned closer to Amara. “I think I’m increasing your sales.”
She smirked. “Maybe you’re useful after all.”
At some point, he began calling out to customers.
“Fresh meat! Best in the market!”
Amara froze, then burst into laughter.
“No, no, no. Stop. You sound like a radio advert.”
He grinned. “I’m attracting customers.”
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