My first ever heartbreak happened when I was a boy. Eleven years old, I think. It happened at the edge of a gutter in front of a tailor’s shop. It was Christmas day and my world was falling apart because I trusted a tailor.

FOLLOW US ON WHATSAPP CHANNEL TO RECEIVE ALL STORIES IN YOUR INBOX

Back then, my parents were away and I was living with my aunt. Every Christmas, Mom would buy fabrics and send them over to be given to a tailor to sew into a beautiful shirt and trousers for me. That very year, my fabrics arrived very early in December, and that very day, I sent them to the tailor and he took my measurements.

This tailor had sewn my clothes since I was eight or nine. Yes, he wasn’t consistent, but there was no single Christmas that he wasn’t able to sew my outfit just in time. Sometimes, I would get it on the evening of the 24th of December. Other times too, I bathed and walked naked to his shop on Christmas day and waited until he finished stitching the pieces together.

All was well with me, as long as I got to wear my Christmas clothes.

But that Christmas was special. I had completed catechism and had passed my interview. On that Christmas day, I was going for my first communion to become a Catholic worth his salt. I started chasing my tailor from the 20th of December. I went there at least twice a day, and anytime I went there he took my measurements again. He said, “It seems like you grow taller every minute. Yesterday your length was 16; today you’re 17. What do you eat? If I sew your clothes early, by Christmas, they won’t fit you again.”

I trusted him. He had never failed me.

I was there on the 22nd of December. I was there on the 23rd. On the morning of the 24th, I was there and didn’t see him. I went there in the evening; I didn’t see him. No worries. On the 25th of December, I took my bath, wore my shoes, and walked naked to his shop. His shop was closed. “Ah, this man too, what’s up?”

I walked straight to his house. People had gathered in the compound and were looking sad and moody. I heard noise and wailing coming from one of the rooms in the house. I asked one of them, “Please, I’m looking for Uncle Apakye.” The guy looked at me from the top, got to my waist, and stayed there for a while before continuing to my shoes. He said, “Apakye? You mean the tailor?” I nodded. He said, “He’s the reason we are gathered here. Apakye was knocked down by a car last night and he couldn’t make it.”

I asked, “Don’t you know where he hangs his shop keys? He might have finished my clothes before the car killed him. Kindly help me get them. I’m getting late for church.”

The guy looked at me from the top, got to my waist and stayed there for a while, and then came back to my face and said, “Someone is dead and we are mourning, but all you care about is your clothes?”

I left him and walked to the wailing widow. I told her, “Your husband finished sewing my clothes before the car knocked him down; can you go inside and get them for me?” She didn’t even look at me; she continued crying, asking the spirit of her husband whom he left her for.

The first guy I spoke to got angry. He came to where I was, held my hand, and dragged me out of the compound. I went back to the shop, sat at the edge of the gutter in front of the shop with my feet dangling inside, and started crying.

I was young and trusted easily. I knew tailors could disappoint, but I didn’t know how far they could go to ensure the disappointment of their clients—even to the extent of dying just so their clients wouldn’t get their clothes. I learned my lesson. The next tailor I had, I didn’t give him space to breathe. By the 1st of December, he had finished sewing my Christmas outfit with a lot of allowance, just in case I grew taller or bigger.

Is There A Man Out There Who Doesn’t Cheat?

A week ago, I sent my kid’s clothes to the tailor. He told me, “Come next week; they will be ready.” I told him, “Kindly watch your left and your right and your left again when crossing the road from today onward. You people, I know what you can do just to disappoint clients. Not again.”
#OurChristmasStories

—N.J.E

This story you just read was sent to us by someone just like you. We know you have a story too. Email it to us at [email protected]. You can also drop your number and we will call you so you tell us your story.

*****