25th June 2022

TRACEY

Forget Nigerian men. Nigerian banks will stain your white.

The one day the Nigerian electronic banking system had to develop a general downtime, it had to be the one day Tracey hadn’t received her balance immediately after the delivery of a cake. Usually, she had no qualms about a delay (short delay, to be precise) in payment, especially when it came to clients like these. They were respectable most of the time.

Yes, most of the time.

Omonigho Oyinvwi, the daughter of a well respected former senator, and the drama that came with her birthday bash last year was still fresh in Tracey’s mind. Omonigho, after months of asking and Tracey playing nice girl and being civil with her, had told Tracey that rather than pay the balance for the three tier birthday cake with fondant ruffles and textured buttercream, she would tag Tracey as the baker, making sure she got publicity for her business, acting as though she were doing Tracey a favour.

Tracey had to resort to threatening to drag Omonigho all over social media, calling her a debtor, if she refused to pay. Ezekiel, Tracey’s assistant, had long since begun the dragging, yet it produced no results.

“You can’t shame the shameless,” Ezekiel had said when all attempts to shame Omonigho into paying up failed.

The annoying part was how Omonigho’s followers were quick to defend her, calling Tracey (well, her business) a hater and a wicked, ungrateful person.

But that wasn’t the issue now. The problem now was that as Tracey was wheeling the masterpiece that’s a two-tier white cake with blue ombre sugar flowers and a large, glittery Happy 35th Wedding Anniversary topper, the wife shot out of her seat in the middle of her husband’s speech, slammed her palms on the table and said, “I want a divorce.”

Tracey’s jaw dropped and a fork clattered to the ground, dropping from the hand of one of the guests seated at the outdoor dining table.

A time freeze held the table bound and stupefied for ten seconds and shattered under the barrage of questions and comments.

“What?”

“Mama, what did you say?”

“Nice joke, Mama.”

“Mummy, what does divorce mean?”

The woman with resolute lines on her face debunked the notion that her statement was all a joke. “Davou, I want out of this marriage. I’m done.”

Ahh!

A tall, dark and—Tracey was appalled that she could notice in this dicey and awkward situation—handsome man stood, asking a lady to take the children in. He turned to look at the caterers at the expansive buffet station and Tracey, who remained frozen with her hands on the golden cake cart. “Please, can you excuse my family?”

Wahala! My balance nko?

The chef and his waiters and assistants nodded and walked briskly away from the family still in shock. Tracey remained frozen, wondering if it was heartless and inconsiderate to pipe up about her balance at that moment.

As the dark man turned to a half-caste lady and a short, fair man and gestured his head, telling them to leave the table, Tracey caught a glimpse of the perplexed faces seated at the table and the husband who looked like he was a second away from a heart attack. 

It will be heartless and inconsiderate to mention it now.

Tracey swallowed her comment, scurrying away from the garden. She would hang around the front lawn till someone came out and then ask for her balance.

***

The caterers were long gone when someone stepped out of the mansion. Tracey, who had been sitting on the edge of the stone water fountain, sprung up and rushed to the dark man from earlier who was heading to his car.

“Hello. Good evening, sir,” Tracey greeted, ducking her head to show respect.

The man turned to eye her. “What are you still doing here?”

Tracey steeled her back. There was no tactful way to put this, but her money was her money. She had delivered the cake and it wasn’t her fault that the wife had the worst timing on earth. Why couldn’t she have wanted the divorce a week ago or even tomorrow? It had to be on the wedding anniversary day and on the day electronic banking in Nigeria decided to go on a vacation.

“Sir, forgive me if this sounds uncouth, but I am yet to receive the balance for the cake.”

The man’s frown deepened. “Balance?”

Tracey nodded.

“For the cake?”

Tracey wasn’t sure if that was shock or derision in his voice, but she didn’t care. She nodded again. “Yes, sir.”

“Miss, how insensitive could you be? My mother just dropped a bombshell on us and all you care about is your balance?”

Tracey took in a deep breath. She was a professional. She could understand that he was hurting at the moment, but she really needed her balance. That anniversary cake had put her through more stress than she charged for and if they could only pay her balance, she would be glad.

“Sir, I understand how delicate both our situations are, but I was promised that I’d receive the balance after the party ended. It’s been,” Tracey glanced at her wristwatch, “roughly three hours since the party unfortunately ended. If you could pay me, I’ll get out of your hair and let you return to your family.”

The man scoffed and rolled his eyes. “It’s not like we’ve even touched the cake in question. You can take it back for all I care.”

Maybe it was his callous words or the fear that this was going to be another Omonigho or the fact that her patience had been worn thin by waiting in the cold for three hours, but Tracey snapped.

“With all due respect,” she added a sir as an afterthought, “I want my money now! I don’t care whether you touched the cake or not. Just give me my money.”

What effrontery!

The man’s eyes narrowed into venomous slits. “You have some nerve yelling at me.”

“Abeg,” Tracey retorted, the decibels of her voice increasing steadily, “I will talk to you however I want.”

She gave him a once over, clapped, and kissed her teeth. “What exactly do you rich people even think you’re made of? You’re just a bunch of inconsiderate people with no honour and no integrity. What real decent people do is promise payment and make payment!”

On a roll, venting her anger at Omonigho on him, her eyes widened as a thought occurred to her. “Who knows? Maybe that divorce drama was just a ploy to get me to forgo my money.”

The man’s eyes darkened. She had definitely struck a nerve, but she couldn’t care less. All that mattered was her money.

“Get out of here before I make you regret those words.”

Tracey chuckled mirthlessly. “So now, you want to intimidate me with that barely-there baritone and your locally-acquired American accent? News flash, I’m not going anywhere without my money.”

Tracey made it a habit not to insult people that this man had pushed all her buttons. She whipped out her phone. Maybe it was time to show this man just how serious she was. Tracey was about to start recording when the half caste lady from earlier walked out of the house and jogged to them.

“Dan, what’s going on? Somto and I could hear your voices all the way from the living room.”

The soft-spoken lady with a faint accent made Tracey doubt the authenticity of her earlier statement—that his subtle American accent was locally acquired. Anyway, she said what she said and she wasn’t taking it back.

“This heartless and inconsiderate wannabe with a gutter for a mouth is raving to get her money, a balance for a cake we didn’t even touch. And she has the nerve to insinuate Mama asked for a divorce just so we could get out of paying her.”

Tracey had heard worse but hearing those words in his accent with the way his eyes pinned her to a spot made it sting a little.

The lady placed a hand on his arm to placate him. The man, Dan, as she called him, turned to look at the lady with a pained expression. He took in a deep breath, and the lady smiled at Tracey.

“Hi, Miss. I’m so sorry about the delay in getting the balance for your cake,” the lady put in and Dan scoffed and muttered under his breath, “You had to go apologise to her.”

Tracey ignored him and focused on his girlfriend who seemed like she had more sense between her ears than he did.

“I promise it wasn’t intentional. The family is going through a lot, considering what happened at dinner. I understand that there is a general downtime with electronic banking at the moment, but I promise to make payment first thing tomorrow, provided the electronic banking system is back to work.”

Tracey eyed the woman, wary about her proposition as Dan told her that she didn’t have to.

The smart woman caught the wariness on her face and smiled. She reached into the clutch bag dangling from her shoulder and pulled out a business card from a card holder.

Tracey accepted it and glanced at the name on the card.

Rosal Events and Design
Erhuvwu Oyinvwi | Creative Director

Tracey blinked. Oyinvwi? As in Omonigho Oyinvwi? Or a different Oyinvwi?

The lady continued, “My phone number, social handles and address are all there.”

Tracey flipped the card.

“Feel free to drag me on social media or make a scene at my office if you do not get your money once this downtime is over.”

Tracey glanced at the woman, wanting to tell her that dragging, embarrassment and shame did not ensure payment, a bitter lesson Omonigho Oyinvwi had taught her. Looking the woman over, Tracey concluded that she couldn’t possibly be related to Omonigho. If her politeness and accent hadn’t been a dead giveaway, her gingerbread brown skin and ringlet curls definitely swayed Tracey’s mind for the motion that they couldn’t be related.

“You promise?”

The lady smiled and raised a hand in pledge. “My word is my bond.”

Tracey, going against the common sense in her, decided to trust the lady and nodded. “I really do hope your word is your bond.”

Erhuvwu nodded and thanked her. Tracey tossed a glance in Dan’s direction. She met his steely gaze and swallowed the onye iberibe that sat at the seam of her lips. She wouldn’t break her personal convictions anymore for someone like him. Walking away, she hoped for two things—to get her money in the morning and to never see the Dan guy again.