COVID-19; the man!

I stand by the door, feet shaking in my shoes. I knew it was a bad idea, I knew just that from the start.

---

Mama insisted that we go to the market today. Where was our daily bread going to come from, if we follow what the fat fools at the top said, she asked me when I complained to her earlier this morning.

I could hear the warning sounding in my ears. I couldn't quite place it, but I knew something defining was going to happen today; maybe to me, maybe to her!

---

"This is it, the defining encounter!" I mumble to myself as I look into the distance, cold sweat breaking out over my skin.

The market is virtually empty, but he makes his way across to where we are, a huge smile tattooed over his face.

His smile is blinding.

Yes, all I want to do is close my almost-bleeding eyes at the sight of those yellow, broken teeth, covered lavishly with plaque.

He is wearing a tank top, and a few strands of greying hair are peeking out from under his armpits. "Does he even shave?" I ask myself in wonder.

---

His beefy arms are covered in tattoo sleeves. His knickers stop a bit above the knees, revealing stocky, short legs blanketed by a dense coat of fur. I usually am not a fan of hairless guys, but I would carry out a waxing session for free on this guy, if I could.

His smell almost knocks me off my feet. He comes closer and my senses are assaulted by how much he smells like a mixture of sweat, bad eggs and animal droppings.

Giving the million-kobo smile, he stretches out his hand when he gets to me, expecting a handshake. My eyes are drawn to the rough edges of his bitten nails and the mass of dirt lodged underneath those nails. Remembering mama's tutelage on making nice, I bring out my hand and allow his calloused paws squeeze my delicate hands in a handshake too hard I feel my bones squeaking for help.

I pull my hand back and plaster a smile on my face while trying to stifle the pain; the customer is always right, right?

---

"Your garri na how much?" he asks me in his gravelly voice while I struggle to hold my breath.

"Na fifty fifty naira, three cups hundred naira" I respond.

"Make I see" he says before sticking his hand inside my full bowl of garri and packing a handful of it to pour into his mouth. "Oya put nau, hundred naira own."

As I bend to attend to him, he grunts. It is deep and low. Twice! Turning to the side, mucus comes flying from his mouth. It is thick, yellow, slimy.

It drops next to my right foot.

He cleans his mouth with the back of his palm and the hairs on my hand stand on edge.

Was that the same hand I had just shaken???

I think I just met him! Covid-19, the person!