Sales Queen

Mrs. Moono is our neighbor here on the mission. She and her family raise chickens and grow tomatoes for a living. Mrs. Moono is also a talented seamstress and an amazing sales lady. She sews tote bags, satchels, coin purses, computer bags, skirts and tops (called suites here), place mates, aprons, and quilted bags. She sews on the side to put her five children through school. The thing about going over to Mrs. Moono to puruse her wears is that you always buy more than you anticipated. She can convince you that you need a bag to match your skirt or a coin purse to go inside of your tote. I would put her sales skills up against anyone in the states.

The past two days I’ve been over at her house with different sewing orders. Yesterday, after she measured me for my suite, she informed me that I should marry her son. Apparently he is very handsome and well educated. He’s getting his degree in economics at the university nearby. Figuring she knew I was joking I replied affirmatively. Mrs. Moono said she would sew me all the aprons I wanted for zero kwatcha. I walked away not sure whether a verbal agreement (given in jest) meant that I had just signed betrothal papers.

Today we all went into Choma, a town an hour away with a decent sized market and plenty of people ready to barter. We all left with full bags and empty wallets, especially Antoinette. Shorty after arriving at our house, I made my way over to Mrs. Moono’s. I was warmly welcomed into her dining room, where she was already hard at work. We chatted for a few minutes and then she asked me if I had a fiancé. I said no, not even a boyfriend; I’m very much single. She looked shocked. I wasn’t sure if she really liked me or had entirely forgotten her proposal from the other day. Mrs. Moono proceeds to ask why. I jokingly stated that nobody’s made me an offer. She scoffed. Curiously she asked me if I liked black boys. Sure, I like black boys. She smiled and continued her sales pitch. My witty seamstress again reiterated how good looking her son was and I was informed of all his accomplishments. Mrs. Moono then slyly says “don’t you think the little black babies here are so cute?” I assured her that they’re some of the most precious children I’ve ever seen. She asked if I found a Zambian husband yet and if I would just take one home with me? I tried telling her that finding a husband was not really the reason for my being here. This didn’t really stop her though. She persisted gushing about her son and trying to get me to take him home as my personal souvenir. Mrs. Moono, the humble farmer, is a sales lady through and through. Like any good mother, it’s all for the sake of her children.

-Mary Jo