Rahma looked at Mariam over the top of her glasses, then closed the credit ledger without hurry.
“For now, cash only.”
The warehouse smelled of new cloth, wrapping paper, and truck dust. Rolls of poplin stood stacked nearly to the ceiling. Pendo waited beside the scale, watching the blue roll they needed for the remaining school batch.
Mariam did not pretend she had misheard.
“For this order only?”
“For your whole account until I know whether that workshop will remain open.”
“The workshop is open under a temporary order.”
Rahma shook her head. “Temporary is exactly the word that makes me say cash only.”
Pendo started to speak. Mariam lifted a hand.
“And my payment history?”
“Good.”
“How many late payments?”
“Very few.”
“My current balance?”
Rahma named the amount.
Mariam wrote it down.
“Then let’s begin with facts. The workshop is not closed. I have access during fixed hours. The estate inventory has been ordered within seven days. The school order was reduced, not cancelled. I have deposits from two private clients. I owe you this balance.”
“And if an officer changes that access order tomorrow?”
“I don’t know.”
“And if settlement tells you to move the business?”
“I don’t know.”
“Exactly.”
Mariam knew Rahma was not an enemy. Cloth left on credit had to return as money. Sympathy could not pay a wholesaler.
“How much cash for one full roll?”
Rahma told her.
Mariam calculated quickly. A full cash purchase would leave too little for wages and transport. Half a roll would keep production moving, but the unit price would be worse and the margin thinner.
“We can reorganize by size,” Pendo said. “Take enough blue for shirts, some grey, finish the first names on the list.”
Rahma glanced at her. “You’re the apprentice?”
“Yes.”
“You talk like a manager.”
“Machines don’t understand estates.”
Rahma smiled despite herself.
Mariam opened the temporary-access order and put a copy on the desk.
“I’m not asking for the old thirty-day credit. Give me a small batch line. Seven days. Limited to orders already backed by customer deposits.”
“What collateral?”
“My payment history. Copies of the orders. Partial cash today.”
“That is not collateral.”
“It is evidence of cash flow.”
“Evidence is not money.”
“And rumor is not a fact.”
Rahma leaned back.
“People say Hamisi’s children locked you out.”
“They did. Now there is controlled access.”
“They say the workshop will become a pharmacy.”
“No lease has been signed.”
“They say you went to a legal clinic.”
“I did.”
“And customers hearing all this?”
“That is why I refuse to hide it.”
Rahma tapped the ledger.
“Business likes people who say everything is fine.”
“Until it isn’t.”
Pendo laid out the production sheet.
“The school order was reduced. The sample passed. Twelve units are already accepted. If we get material today, we can finish twenty more within two days during our access hours.”
Rahma read the sheet carefully.
“Machine time?”
“Overlock inside. One straight-stitch machine inside. Mama Chiku’s machine is emergency backup.”
“Wages?”
“Pendo is being paid batch by batch for now,” Mariam said.
Pendo glanced at her. They had already agreed, but hearing it stated before a supplier made survival sound harsher.
“That is not a normal system,” Rahma said.
“No. It is a survival system.”
“And you want me inside it?”
“Only at a level you can measure.”
Rahma asked for six months of statements. Mariam had brought them. They went line by line through order payments, transfers to suppliers, deposits, and withdrawals. Mariam did not hide the month Hamisi was in hospital and one payment had been nine days late.
“Why?” Rahma asked.
“Hospital expenses. I settled after a school deposit cleared.”
Rahma made a note.
“And this delayed payment?”
“A client changed a size batch.”
“Proof?”
“WhatsApp order trail.”
Rahma smiled. “You arrive with a file for everything now.”
“The lock taught me.”
After twenty minutes, Rahma wrote her terms.
Half cash on the first material release. Seven-day credit on a limited amount. No new balance until the first installment closed. Daily production update tied only to the school order—not because Rahma wanted to manage the workshop, but because the credit now rested on a specific stream of work rather than general goodwill.
Mariam read twice.
“Rate?”
“Wholesale. I’m not punishing you for gossip.”
“Delivery?”
“You pay.”
“Fair.”
“We can collect on two motorbikes,” Pendo said.
“Keep the rolls clean,” Rahma replied.
Mariam signed the small order, not a large promissory note. The difference mattered. Supplier credit had once floated on Hamisi’s relationships, the reputation of the compound, and years of ordinary trust. Now every shilling had to stand alone.
On the way back, Pendo said, “We got only a little.”
“A little we can repay.”
“And the margin?”
“Smaller.”
“Wages?”
“Batch by batch until things settle.”
Pendo was quiet.
“If you find steadier work somewhere else,” Mariam said, “don’t think loyalty means you must stay.”
Pendo frowned. “Don’t tell me that unless you want me gone.”
“I don’t. I just refuse to make your livelihood hostage to loyalty.”
“Then give me a schedule.”
At the workshop, the temporary-access log lay on the table. Nuru had signed that she opened the door that morning. Mariam recorded the new material receipt and stored post-order stock separately from inventory-disputed stock.
That small separation gave her unexpected relief.
The business was beginning to stand apart from the grace of the family.
By evening they had cut sixteen shirts. Pendo studied the production board.
“If we finish collars tomorrow, we can still make the window.”
Mariam’s phone rang.
Rahma.
“You forgot your receipt copy,” she said.
“I’ll collect it tomorrow.”
“That’s not the only thing.”
Mariam went still.
“Another school called me. They are looking for a supplier for December uniforms. They asked whether your workshop will still be operating.”
Rahma says another school is asking whether Mariam can guarantee December delivery.
---