The girl who sold Sunday rice

Peculiar onyedikachi Realistic Urban

Mama Nkechi’s pot was the biggest pot on Rumuomasi Street.
It was black at the bottom from fire, and had 3 dents from when Amara dropped it running.
Every Sunday by 11am, the smell would start traveling. Jollof. Stew. Fried chicken. Plantain.
By 11:30am, people would be queuing with plates, takeaway packs, and pure water.
The girl behind the pot was *Amara Okafor*. 22 years old. 5’4. Tired eyes. Strong hands.
Two years ago she was in 300 Level at RSU, studying Accounting. First class student. Head girl in secondary school.
Today she was known as “Sunday Rice Girl.”
It wasn’t the plan.
Her dad, Mr. Okafor, died of stroke on a Tuesday. Just like that.
He was the one paying school fees. The one who said “My daughter will be a big accountant.”
After burial, the bills came. ₦180,000 school fees. ₦120,000 house rent increase. Chidi, her 10-year-old brother, needed books and uniform.
Amara went to the HOD to beg for extension. “2 months, sir. Please.”
He said, “No money, no exam. Rules are rules.”
She sold her laptop. ₦60,000.
She sold her phone. ₦40,000.
It still wasn’t enough.
So on a Sunday, with ₦15,000 borrowed from Mama Nkechi, she bought one big pot, 1 bag of rice, 1 crate of chicken, and tomatoes.
She told herself: “Just this Sunday. To feed Chidi and pay rent.”
That first Sunday, 8 people bought. She made ₦12,000 profit.
Second Sunday, 15 people.
Third Sunday, someone posted her on f*******:: “This girl’s jollof tastes like home. Rumuomasi Junction.”
By month 3, people were coming from Rumuokwuta, Eliozu, even D-Line to buy.
“Sunday Rice by Amara” was born.
Her routine became law:
Wake 4am. Go to Mile 1 Market before price goes up. Cook from 7am. Serve 11am to 4pm. Wash pots till 6pm. Count money. Pay rent. Buy food. Save ₦5,000 for Chidi. Sleep 11pm. Repeat.
She didn’t complain. Much.
But some Sundays her back would hurt so bad she cried in the bathroom.
Some Sundays customers would shout: “This meat is small!” and she would smile and add another one.
Chidi was proud of her. “My sister is a business woman,” he told his classmates.
Amara used the money to put him in a better school.
One rainy Sunday, 3:30pm, business was almost done. Only one plate of rice left.
A man came. White shirt, now soaked. Black trousers. Beard not shaved. Eyes tired like he hadn’t slept.
“Is there still rice?” he asked.
Amara nodded. “Yes. ₦1000.”
The man brought out ₦500 and 5 coins. “This is all I have. Please. I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
The women behind him would have shouted “No money no rice!”
Amara looked at him. Really looked.
She served him. Full plate. 2 pieces of chicken. Plantain. And extra stew.
“God bless you,” the man said. He sat on the bench and ate like someone who forgot what food tasted like.
“Wait,” Amara said when he finished. “What’s your name?”
He wiped his mouth. “Emeka. Emeka Nwosu.”
“What do you do, Emeka?”
He laughed bitterly. “I used to be a supervisor at a logistics company. 3 months ago they sacked 40 of us. No severance. I’ve been applying. Nothing.”
Amara nodded. “Come back next Sunday. I’ll save you a plate.”
Emeka looked up, confused. “Why? I can’t pay full price.”
“Because someone once gave me food when I had ₦0,” Amara said. “And because God said to share.”
For the next 4 Sundays, Emeka came. Always around 3pm. Always with ₦500.
Amara always gave him full plate.
They didn’t talk much. Just “How are you?” “I’m fine.”
On the 5th Sunday, he came at 10am. Early. With a small bag.
“I got a job,” he said, and his smile was so big it changed his whole face. “Security guard. Night shift at a bank in GRA. ₦40,000.”
Amara screamed and clapped. “See God! Sit. Eat. On the house today.”
He ate, then brought out ₦2000. “This is for the past 4 Sundays.”
Amara pushed it back. “No. Use it for boots and torchlight for night duty.”
Emeka didn’t argue. He just looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time.
After that, Emeka started coming every Sunday. Not to beg. To help.
He carried the 25L gallons of water from the borehole.
He arranged plastic chairs.
He stood at the entrance and told boys, “If you don’t have money, don’t come and disturb.”
People started noticing.
“Amara and that security man are close o.”
“They make a good pair.”
Amara would laugh it off. “He’s just helping me. That’s all.”
But Emeka was different. He remembered small things.
That she liked her tea with 2 cubes of sugar.
That Chidi’s birthday was in August.
That she hated when people wasted food.
One Sunday, business was slow. Rain was falling since morning.
By 2pm, only 5 people had come.
Amara was packing up when

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