The next day, I got out of the bus at dawn. I smelled bad from the oil and pepper stains on my skirt. I wasn’t a dirty person and I hated the way I smelledbut the little money I had could not afford a skirt even from a thrift shop. If I was going to buy a skirt, I needed double that amount.
But I was starving and I needed food. So I ignored my physical need and focused on the immediate one. I spent all the money I had on food and set out to find work for the day. I returned to the restaurant where I had washed dishes the previous day but when I got there, the woman rejected me because I smelled so bad.
I tried to explain to her that I needed the money to survive and probably buy a skirt if I could afford one but she didn’t listen to me. She yelled at me to leave her shop and I left there in shame.
I didn’t cry. I was used to this kind of treatment athome from my parents so it wasn’t new or painful or anything. I just had to do what I had always done, find another way, find my happiness elsewhere.
I scanned the streets for a job but I didn’t find any. Soon it was noon, and the sun had started to scorch. I was exhausted from all the hours of long walk and I left the street for a place to hide from the sun. I thought of going to houses around and asking if I could be of any help to them but I knew that if Ilooked bad enough to be rejected by shops, no sane person would ever allow me in their house.
I didn’t find anything to do through out that day and when evening came, I left for the garage where I had slept the previous night. On my way there, I came across the same woman I saw picking bottles the other day. I wanted to approach her for help, but begging wasn’t a thing I ever wanted to result to no matter how hard things got.
The woman saw me pause and continue on my way home, so she called me.