With service as dismal as it is in Windhoek, I feel I can be forgiven for raising my eyebrows at Beverly at Chelsea Fabrics when she responds to my query as to whether they sell cheap white material with a big, fat “DUH!” before bursting into the caliber of laughter that makes me wonder whether the establishment is in the midst of a gas leak.
The thing is I have become so accustomed to whistling in reception areas as wait staff eyeball me from corners while playing surreptitious games of Ching Chong Cha that will determine who will do their job and I have grown such virile beards in shop, bank and mobile home queues that I can hardly recognise good service when I see it.
In fact, as Beverly walks up to me quickly, with a smile and cracks a joke that makes her eyes twinkle, I am pretty sure I’m being had and I look around for someone to be taciturn and unhelpful, so I can feel at ease and as though I’ve received my money’s worth in ineptitude.
Incredibly, Beverly’s not into it. Instead she asks my sister and me what we’re making and laughs when we tell her we want to sew our own Halloween costumes for a party the next day. By hand.
Sensing we have no idea what we’re doing she listens to our specifications of “cheap” and “easy to sew” with mischief in her eyes and directs us to a white material more commonly used as lining.
She tells us that it’s called “pongee,” that it’s about 14 bucks per metre and that it’s really thin and quite sheer but if we folder it over once it will be thick enough to maintain our dignity.
We decide on the pongee, Beverly measures me in a heartbeat and she excuses herself politely to deal with a previous client who is having trouble upstairs. While we wait, my sister and I browse through the different fabrics and regale each other with horror stories from a dark time in Namibian history when grade school Needlework was compulsory and we shudder at the thought of what awaits us that evening.
When Beverly returns, she is grinning at me more purposefully than usual and she gestures excitedly to the concealed office behind her and says her boss just told her that I’m “the girl in The Namibian.” And she would like to know if that is true. I tell her that it is and, predictably, she bursts out laughing and then the three of us just stare at each other until will remember that life is for living.
Beverly is a boon.
She runs us through what we need and offers suggestions about embellishments without seeming like she’s trying to sell us a pyramid scheme.
She also gives us advice on how to make our endeavour easier in between telling us about a fella who brought her a chocolate, which melted in his hand as he walked there and reduced her surprise to a warm bag of mush. Which was… surprising.
Though it hardly bears saying, she laughs at this too. Kindly. She laughs at everything and she is so encouraging about our costumes that we feel like we’ve been shopping with an old friend and we are flushed with a confidence that has nothing to do with our ability.
Later that night, at around 02h00 when I am through with the struggle that was sewing my dress, I take a moment to think about Beverly and how a little friendliness and encouragement can brighten your day and give you confidence about the challenges ahead.
Though the warmth towards her blossoming in my chest seems a little silly, I feel glad to have met her.
I feel proud to have made something that looks this lovely by hand, I feel certain that Beverly has brightened many days and I feel sure that the bloke delivering chocolates to her on sweltering afternoons knows that people like her are precious few and far between.
– martha@namibian.com.na or marth__vader on Twitter
