Juma did not go with Amina to the creditor in the morning as he had promised. He sent a message saying the person who held the documents was travelling. Amina replied with one question: **When can we verify it?**
No answer came.
Instead, Juma closed the shop early and sat in the storeroom behind the sacks of seed. When Amina arrived, the front door was locked and the young man from the counter was sweeping the floor.
“Juma is inside,” he said. “He told me not to disturb him.”
Amina went in without asking. Neema and Halima were behind her. Mama Rehema had stayed home. She said matters with the creditor belonged to the siblings themselves.
The storeroom was narrow, with boxes stacked almost to the ceiling. Juma sat on a plastic chair, a brown envelope resting on his lap.
“I said not all of you should come in,” he began.
“You said you would take us with you,” Amina replied.
“I knew you wouldn’t give me a chance to explain.”
“Then explain.”
Juma looked at the envelope, not at their faces.
“The debt began with Father. He borrowed money so the shop could keep buying stock. One season, customers could not pay. The next, seed prices rose. The account fell behind.”
“Why isn’t the contract in the safe?” Neema asked.
“Because the creditor kept the first contract.”
“And a copy?”
“Father used to keep it.”
“It isn’t there.”
Juma closed his eyes for a moment.
“Maybe he took it out.”
“Or someone else did,” Halima said.
Juma looked at her.
“Do you want me to say it was me?”
“What do you want us to say?”
Amina stepped closer. “We want to know where the plot deposit went.”
“It didn’t go to the creditor.”
“You said you had started talking to the family so the deposit wouldn’t have to cover the whole balance.”
“I wanted to pay them part of it.”
“So it is for the debt?”
Juma laughed bitterly.
“I’m not selling the plot to buy a car. I was trying to get time to protect the shop.”
“You wanted to protect the business by selling something that belongs to all of us without telling us,” Neema said.
“I wanted to stop the business from collapsing.”
“Are those not two different answers?” Halima asked.
Juma stood. His chair scraped backward.
“When Father was in hospital, the creditor wanted to take stock as security. I went to them and asked for time. They said if I didn’t pay, they would close the shop and sell its goods. Father didn’t know everything. He was struggling to breathe.”
Amina saw Juma’s hand tighten around the envelope.
“Did you use your own money?”
“I used what I had.”
“And the debt was still there?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell Neema and Halima?”
“I called Neema one day.”
Neema frowned.
“You only told me the shop was having a hard week.”
“Because you were working nights. I didn’t want to add to what you were carrying.”
“And Halima?”
“She was in training. Amina was travelling.”
His words struck a place in Amina’s memory. She had been travelling to inspect produce for her company, writing to Father each evening. Juma had never mentioned a creditor. He had only told her the shop expenses had risen.
“Why did you say you were the one who had to decide?” she asked.
Juma sat down again.
“Because when I asked for time, people wanted to know who was responsible. I said I was. After a while, that answer became a fact everyone used.”
“You used it too,” Amina said.
“Yes.”
The storeroom fell silent. Halima had expected Juma to defend himself. Neema looked down. Amina felt her anger find something to hold, but his admission did not erase the harm.
“Did you sign the preliminary papers in your own name?” Amina asked.
Juma did not answer.
“Juma.”
“I put my name on the discussion agreement. I have not signed the final transfer.”
“You told Kaseke you had full authority.”
“I told him I would bring the final signature.”
“Did you tell him the deposit would go toward the debt?”
“I told him time was short.”
Halima slapped her palm against a box.
“You have hidden everything inside half-truths.”
Juma raised his voice.
“Because every truth you ask for comes with someone ready to blame me! If I say Father borrowed, you’ll say I let him. If I say I paid, you’ll say I want praise. If I say I tried to sell the plot, you’ll call me a thief!”
“And what do we call it when you hide it?” Halima asked.
Neema stepped between them.
“We will not solve this by fighting.”
“We are not fighting,” Amina said. “We are putting the facts where they can be checked.”
She opened her notebook and wrote four headings: **Original debt. Juma’s payments. Kaseke’s deposit. Security.**
“We need the first contract, the current balance, the payment history and the paper showing which property was pledged.”
Juma took out the brown folder. Inside were folded copies, some stamped in the previous year. He placed them on the desk, one by one.
Amina read the first page. Mzee Mhando’s name was at the top. Beneath it were the shop’s name and the security details.
“What was pledged?” Neema asked.
Amina turned the page. Juma tried to hold it, but Amina covered it with her hand.
“The peri-urban plot,” she said.
Halima drew in a breath.
“Father pledged the plot?”
“Yes.”
“And you said selling it was your decision.”
“I wanted to pay before they took it.”
“But how low was the price you gave Kaseke?” Amina asked.
Juma said nothing. The number was written in black ink on the preliminary agreement. Amina did not read it aloud. It was below the usual estimates for the area, though they still had no verified valuation.
“You set the price by yourself,” Neema said.
“I had only a few days.”
“And you lost those days by not telling us.”
Juma sat with his head bowed.
“I thought if I paid, everything would go back to normal.”
Amina closed the folder.
“No one is completing the sale today.”
“The creditor will not wait.”
“Then we will call them.”
“You don’t know how to speak to them.”
“We will learn by reading the contract.”
Halima picked up her phone.
“Should I call Kaseke now?”
“Yes,” Amina said.
Juma raised a hand.
“Don’t tell him yet. Give me a few hours.”
Amina looked at him.
“We have given you every day you said you needed. Now we have forty-eight hours to stop any action, verify the balance and find a plan that doesn’t mean rushing into a plot sale.”
“Forty-eight hours won’t make the debt disappear.”
“But it can stop a decision we can’t take back.”
Juma shook his head but did not argue. Amina wrote on a sheet of paper:
**SALE PAUSED FOR 48 HOURS.**
Neema signed. Halima signed. After a long pause, Juma added his signature.
As they left the storeroom, Amina carried the security file but did not take the original contract. Juma sealed it in the envelope and said it would be placed in the safe in front of everyone.
“Why didn’t you put this there from the start?” Neema asked.
Juma looked toward the shop door.
“Because when I saw Father’s name on it, I knew you would look at me as a failure.”
Amina answered calmly.
“We see you as someone who hid something that affected everyone. That is not the same as saying you carried no burden.”
Juma did not look back.
That night, when they returned home, Halima opened a small envelope marked with the reference number. Inside was a copy of the security statement and the last page of the contract.
Mzee Mhando’s name was at the top.
But beneath his signature was another line, written two years later:
**ADDITIONAL PAYER: JUMA MHANDO.**
Amina read it twice.
Neema touched her hand.
“He was paying.”
“Yes,” Amina said. “But we still don’t know why, or how much.”
Halima turned the page.
In the lower corner, the creditor had written in red ink:
**THREE TOP-UPS CAME FROM A PRIVATE INDIVIDUAL.**
When Juma read that line, he did not deny it.
But he closed the safe before they could ask why he had paid them in secret.
---