26/05/2025
"YOUR JOY GO COME"
As sun dey kiss sky for evening, painting am gold and purple, dust dey dance for air like small small spirits. Scent of jollof rice and roasted plantain dey waka for breeze, mix with soft laughter from children wey dey play hide-and-seek. Everything quiet, but e get one sweet hope wey dey hang for air, like dew for morning leaf, waiting for light to shine. The air dey heavy with unspoken dreams, and you fit feel am, the promise of something good, just around the corner.
Chiamaka's Song
For inside one small compound for Umuahia, where breeze dey carry scent of fresh earth and palm wine, one young woman by name Chiamaka dey live. Chiamaka get hands wey sabi magic with needle and thread. Any fabric wey touch her hand, e go turn to something fine, something wey go make person smile. But even with all her talent, life no easy. Customers no too plenty, and money na like water for basket – e just dey waka commot.
Every morning, as she dey arrange her small sewing machine under the mango tree, Chiamaka go sigh. But the sigh no be for sadness, na for determination. She go look up to the sky, her eyes bright like morning star, and whisper, "I know my joy go come. E must come."
One day, as she dey sew one beautiful wrapper for Mama Ifeoma, one young man by name Emeka waka enter her compound. Emeka na carpenter, him own workshop dey just two streets away. Him get strong hands and one smile wey fit melt ice. Him come say him want make Chiamaka sew him some fine shirts for him new business.
"Ah, Chiamaka," Emeka talk, him voice soft like cotton, "your work na pure art. I don see am for Mama Nkechi body. You sabi wetin you dey do."
Chiamaka blush small, her heart do 'kpo-kpo'. "Thank you, Emeka. I dey try my best."
As Chiamaka dey sew Emeka's shirts, dem start to dey talk. Dem talk about their dreams, their struggles, and how dem want make dem own hands build something good for dem life. Emeka talk say him want make him carpentry workshop grow, make him fit build fine fine furniture for everybody. Chiamaka tell am say her biggest dream na to get her own big shop, where she fit teach other young girls how to sew, and make fine clothes for the whole community.
One evening, as rain just fall and the air dey fresh, Emeka come meet Chiamaka. "Chiamaka," him talk, "I get one idea. I get some spare wood for my workshop, and I sabi say you need space. Wetin if I build you one small, fine stall for the market? Just for you to display your clothes well, and make people see your talent?"
Chiamaka's eyes wide open. "Emeka? You go do that for me?"
"Why not?" Emeka smile, him teeth white like fresh garri. "We all need small push. And I believe for your talent, Chiamaka. I know your joy go come, and I want make I be part of am."
True to him word, Emeka start to work. Day and night, the sound of hammer and wood dey waka from him workshop. Chiamaka too, she dey sew with new energy, making more beautiful designs, her heart full of hope. The whole community dey watch dem, dem dey see the hard work and the kindness wey dey flow between dem.
Finally, the day come. Emeka finish the stall. E no be just ordinary stall; e be like small house, with fine carvings and one strong roof. E get space for her sewing machine, and hooks to hang her clothes. When dem carry am go the market square, everybody gather, dem dey clap and shout.
Chiamaka stand in front of her new stall, tears dey gather for her eyes. She look at Emeka, him face dey shine with pride. She look at her clothes, hanging fine fine for the stall. She look at the people, dem faces full of smiles.
For that moment, as the evening sun dey kiss her face, Chiamaka no need to whisper "I know my joy go come" again. Because her joy no just come, e don arrive. E dey there, for the strong wood of the stall, for the fine stitches of her clothes, and most especially, for the warm, kind eyes of Emeka, who believed in her dream. Her joy na the community, the hope, and the promise of a future built with love and hard work.
