Midnight by Sister Souljah

understand her comment. I handed Umma the other shopping bag and said in Arabic, “I’ll be waiting outside here until you’re finished.” The woman invited me to stay as she saw me leaving. I thanked her and left anyway.
    Four or five hours later, the women one by one slowly exited the shower. They were all smiling and upbeat. I handed each of them our business card, explaining that Umma made everything by hand and if they wanted to place an order, they could call the telephone number on the card. About eight of the women must have been the British lady’s friends andrelatives because I did not recognize them from the factory. Meanwhile I told Umma’s coworkers they could also speak their order to me any weekday after work when I came to meet Umma.
    When Umma finally came out, the British hostess and a small group of ladies were each thanking and hugging her and showering Naja with compliments and attention. It was the first time there wasn’t the formalities and distance between them that there was at the factory, where Umma stayed covered and veiled and unusual because of the male presence. Now they had all seen Umma the elegant woman, her face kissed by Allah, her beautiful hands that made beautiful clothing, her authentic jewels, and her very calm and lovable baby girl.
    The bottom line was the coworkers were all used to seeing one another. Seeing Umma, really seeing her today for the first time, was a highlight. I could tell that they had all been affected, especially by her genuine, warm, pretty smile.
    I carried Umma’s first American Singer sewing machine to our apartment from a used appliance shop. I took her shopping in Manhattan’s garment district, and carried her newly purchased supplies.
    I received our first customer orders that same week. There were women who ordered, “That exact same blanket that your mother crocheted for the baby . . .” “The same beautiful dress your mother wore to the shower, but in my size . . .” “Ten of those baby satchels but in a variety of solid colors so I can sell them to my friends . . .” “Something unique for my niece. I liked the way your mother designed the clothes for the baby. It was so personal.”
    Now Umma realized that most of her coworkers could work the machinery at the factory, but really did not have magical fingers like she did. If they did, would they get so pumped up on the items she made that they were willing to part with their hard-earned bucks?
    Everyone communicated their orders to me. I established the rates, and requested and collected the deposits. I even hooked some ladies up once they explained their concept of “layaway.” When their items were completed, I delivered them and collected the balance. I became known for my good manners, nice way of talking, for being on time, honest, and reliable. All of the customers were women, although some were ordering items for men. They expressed their gratitude to me by offering tips. Tips were small but they added up. On the American holidays, my tips doubled because customers tended to spend like crazy.
    Eventually, customers began phoning who were friends of friends of coworkers. I brought an answering machine to keep all the orders organized. I put my voice on the greeting and sometimes bugged out on the various accents, requests, and types of messages when I played them back at night in my room. I also ordered a second phone line to be installed for Umma’s personal use.
    We never told anyone our home address. It was not on the business card. If special measurements had to be taken, which was unusual, we would make an appointment and show up to the customer’s place.
    We purposely never advertised or solicited any customers in our own neighborhood or building. We kept our money quiet. Nobody knew we got it or how we got it.
    My part in the business may sound easy. Yet there were risks involved. I delivered anywhere that a customer lived. I never said no to any address or location. Some