God did

Leila had been a seamstress since she was 14. Learned on her aunt’s old Singer in the back room of their apartment in Lagos. For years she took in hems, fixed school uniforms, sewed gowns for weddings when someone vouched for her. Pay was cash, unpredictable, and always late.

Her machine broke in 2021. The motor burned out, and the repair guy quoted her ₦45,000. She didn’t have ₦5,000. So the machine sat in the corner under a cloth, and she went back to hand-stitching by lamplight. Her eyes started giving her trouble by midnight.

She kept taking small jobs anyway, because the kids still needed food and school fees don’t wait. Customers would come, see her working by hand, and say “Why don’t you just get a new machine?” Like it was that simple.

One day a lady came in for a last-minute alteration for her daughter’s graduation. Leila finished it at 2am, hand-stitched the whole seam so it looked clean. The lady picked it up, cried, and asked how much she owed. Leila said ₦2,000. The lady paid ₦20,000 and left her number.

Two weeks later that same lady showed up with a van. Inside was a brand new industrial sewing machine, table, lights, the whole setup.
“I sell fabrics,” she said. “You’ve done more for my customers than any tailor I know. This is yours. Pay me back when you can. If you can.”

Leila didn’t sleep that night. She just sat and ran her hand over the table, afraid it was a dream.

Six months later she had two apprentices, a small shopfront, and a waiting list for school uniforms.

Last week her youngest daughter got her admission letter. Full scholarship.

Leila sat outside the shop after closing, listening to the hum of the machine inside, and said it quiet:

God did.