Tola lives in a run-down block of apartments in the megacity of Lagos, in the country of Nigeria. She lives with her sister, Moji, who is very clever; her brother, Dapo, who is very fast; and Grandmommy, who is very-very bossy.
Tola is the youngest in her family. And the smallest. And everybody calls her Too Small Tola, which makes her feel too-too small.
“Tola!” shouts Grandmommy. “O-ya, shopping! Let’s go!”
Tola looks at Grandmommy in surprise. Shopping isn’t her job! She is far too small to carry shopping!
“Why are you standing there looking at me?” asks Grandmommy. “Hurry up!”
“But . . .” Tola starts to argue.
She looks at her sister, Moji. Moji is big.
Big enough to carry a mammy-wagon load of shopping.
But Moji is sitting at her borrowed computer doing her homework. She is wearing one of her A+ looks of concentration. Tola sighs. Everybody knows not to get in Moji’s way when she is wearing that look.
What about her brother, Dapo? Dapo is fast. He could reach the market faster than an okada taxi.
But through the open window, carried on air as hot as pepper soup, come the sounds of boys playing football.
“Goal!” the boys roar. Then they start to chant, “Da-po! Da-po! Da-po!”
Tola sighs again. Everybody knows that Dapo is fantastic at football — and useless at everything else. Grandmommy says his tactics for avoiding work are as good as his football tactics.
Tola looks at Grandmommy. She is wearing one of her what-did-I-tell-you looks.
“Just hurry up, Tola,” she says.
Tola hurries to put the big shopping basket on her head. She does not want to upset Grandmommy. If Grandmommy is upset, soon everybody will be upset. Grandmommy passes on her moods faster than mosquitoes pass on malaria.
Moji looks up from the computer screen.
“Too Small Tola!” She laughs. “You will fall down when that basket is full!”
Tola tightens her eyes at Moji.
“Don’t mind her,” Grandmommy says.
“I need you to count the change so that nobody cheats me. Nobody can count faster than you.”
Grandmommy turns back to Moji.
“If Tola is too small, you want to carry the basket for her?” she asks.
Moji turns back to the computer screen.
Her A+ look deepens.
Grandmommy shakes her head, but she says nothing.
Tola follows Grandmommy out of the apartment, then pokes her head back inside.
“Lazy-lazy Moji!” she shouts, and she closes the door quickly. Tola knows that will make Moji as angry as a soldier ant.
Grandmommy tiptoes past the other doors. Tola tiptoes behind her. But as soon as they pass the door of Mama Business, it opens.
Mama Business greets them.
“Good morning! Good morning!
Where are you going?”
“Good morning, Mama Business,” Grandmommy says.
Grandmommy hurries down the dusty concrete steps. Tola hurries behind her.
“You are going to the market?”
Mama Business calls.
Grandmommy races out of the crumbling block of apartments. “Now that Mama Mind-Your-Own-Business has seen us, soon everybody will know where we are going.”
Dapo looks up from his game.
“Too Small Tola!” he shouts. “That basket is bigger than you!”
Tola’s eyes tighten again.
“Don’t mind him,” Grandmommy says.
She shouts to Dapo, “Do you want to carry it?”
Dapo dribbles the ball very quickly. Grandmommy sucks her teeth.
“Wait until I return!” Grandmommy shouts after him. “Then you will work!”
Dapo pretends not to hear. But Tola can see that he now looks nervous, nervous enough to miss the ball. Good, Tola thinks.
Copyright © 2020 by Atinuke; Illustrated by Onyinye Iwu. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
