The Pepper Seller Across My Shop (chapter 1)

They say Lagos is a city where noise drowns out sincerity, where everyone is in a hurry to become something else. Maybe that’s why my heart surprised me.

I am a mechanic in Lagos young, hardworking, neat, and yes, a little bit rich. I won’t pretend humility where there’s none; I’m handsome too. People remind me daily. Customers joke that I should be a model, not a mechanic. Ladies with good school certificates stop by my workshop for “minor faults” that don’t exist. Some come because of my looks, others because they hear I make good money. I smile, fix cars, and keep my distance.

Then there’s Tife.

Every morning, before I lift my tools or open my toolbox, I see her arranging fresh pepper across my shop. Red, green, yellow neatly displayed like she understands order the way I do. She doesn’t shout like other sellers. She doesn’t drag customers by the arm. She sits calmly, greeting people with a soft “Good morning, sir” or “Good afternoon, ma.”

The first thing that caught my attention wasn’t her beauty, though she is beautiful. It was her composure. In a city that forces aggression, Tife moved gently. One day, a customer argued with her over ₦50. She smiled, explained patiently, and still wished him a good day when he left angrily. That stayed with me.

We started with small talk. Weather. Fuel price. Lagos traffic. Then one afternoon, while I was washing my hands after work, she corrected a customer’s grammar politely and in clean, confident English. I looked up, surprised. A pepper seller who speaks better English than some graduates chasing me around? Life is funny.

Over time, our conversations deepened. She told me she finished secondary school but life took a different turn. No long complaints. No bitterness. Just facts and quiet strength. I told her about my journey too how I learned this trade from nothing, how grease-stained hands built my comfort.

What amazed me most was how she saw me. Not as “the rich mechanic” or “fine boy.” She saw the man who gets tired, who works hard, who dreams beyond spanners and engines. When I bought pepper from her, she counted my change carefully like I was any other customer. That humility humbled me.

The other ladies? They are impressive on paper. Degrees. Big grammar. Big demands. But with them, I feel like a trophy. With Tife, I feel like peace.

Sometimes, while tightening a bolt, I catch myself smiling for no reason then I realize she’s laughing across the road. Lagos keeps rushing, horns blaring, deals flying everywhere. But right there, between oil stains and fresh pepper, my heart found something real.

In a city that values shine, I fell for substance.

I fell for Tife the pepper seller across my shop.