My Father's Store: Memories of an Interrupted Childhood

Introduction: The Beginning of It All

My story begins in Santa Comba, Angola, during a time when the warm wind swept across the dirt streets, mingling with the soft conversations of neighbors passing through the town center. It was an Angola where time seemed to move differently, with a natural rhythm dictated by the sun, harvests, and the daily routines of the community.

Santa Comba was a small town but full of life, where everyone knew each other, and camaraderie filled every corner. People lived simply, but with joy. Children played barefoot in the streets, chasing one another and dreaming of the future. I was one of those children. At that time, everything felt like a grand adventure, and my father's store, João de Deus Chaves, was the epicenter of our lives.

The store wasn't just a business; it was the heart of Santa Comba. It was where neighbors gathered to share stories and pick up the essentials for their homes and daily lives. That space, with its shelves full of goods, hanging bicycles, and vibrant fabrics, was much more than a place of trade — it was a meeting point for the community.

At 8 years old in 1967, I already knew the store was special. I began working alongside my father early, watching him serve customers with a kindness that taught me responsibility, respect, and the importance of caring for others. Each day, I learned something new — about trade, people, and life. As I grew, the store became an integral part of my childhood and family life.

My father was a wise man, with a calm demeanor that made everyone around him feel secure. He knew each customer by name and treated everyone with the same courtesy and respect. He understood that the store was more than a place of business; it was a connection point. He often told me, "Treating people well is what makes a store successful, more than any product we sell."

Morning Memories at the Store

Mornings in the store were pure magic for me. I remember waking up to the first rays of sunlight streaming through the windows of our house, which was connected to the store. My mother would already be preparing coffee, and the smell would fill the house, mixing with the fresh morning breeze coming through the open windows. Over breakfast, we sat together, but we knew work awaited.

As soon as the sun rose, the store was alive with activity. I would rush to the counter beside my father, eager to help serve the first customers of the day. I still recall the gentle sound of the doors opening, the bell ringing, and our first neighbors entering, always with a smile. Each day brought something new but also a comforting sense of familiarity. That was our world, and I was proud to be part of it.

At that time, Santa Comba seemed immune to the outside world. The war was still a distant echo, a concern that had not yet reached our doors. Life was peaceful, and I saw my father's store as a safe and welcoming place, where the future still lay on the far horizon.

Connection to the Community

The store was where I first learned about the strength of community. The people who came and went were more than just customers; they were neighbors, friends, and, in many cases, part of our extended family. I remember how the adults would talk at length about the harvests, the dry seasons, and the children growing up and moving to other towns. They trusted my father not just to buy goods but to share their challenges and joys.

Some of my earliest memories of serving the community come from those days in the store. I may have been small, but my father made sure I was involved in everything. "Always help with a smile," he would say. I carried bags of rice, stacked cans, and, in return, received stories, advice, and sincere smiles from neighbors who watched me grow up. It was in this environment that I developed a sense of responsibility and gratitude, knowing that even the simplest tasks contributed to the well-being of our town.

The First Seed of Dreams

It was also there that I began to dream. Simple dreams of riding one of the bicycles hanging from the ceiling, and bigger dreams of growing up, learning more, and exploring the world beyond Santa Comba. The world seemed vast yet accessible, and the store was my starting point for all these musings. Every customer who entered brought stories from other towns and other lives, sparking my curiosity.

The store was undoubtedly my safe haven, but it was also where my dreams began to take shape. Although I was young, I already felt the desire to explore and learn more about the world beyond the dusty streets of our town. At the same time, I knew that no matter where I went, my father's store, the hard work, and the community we built there would always be part of who I would become.

Life in the Store: Between Goods and Fabrics

My father’s store in Santa Comba was a lively and dynamic space, divided into two distinct areas that reflected the diverse needs of our customers and the cultural richness of our community. On one side, shelves stocked with essential everyday products: canned goods, soap, toys, utensils, and even bicycles hanging from the ceiling. On the other, the fabric section, a true palette of colors and African patterns, where our customers’ creativity came to life. Each part of the store had its role and importance, and even as a child, I could see how both sides worked in perfect harmony.

The Side of Essential Goods

The shelves filled with essential goods reflected the practical needs of our community. Canned food, bags of rice, sugar, and flour were neatly stacked, ready to be taken to the kitchens of Santa Comba. The smell of soap mixed with the faint aroma of spices we had for sale, creating an atmosphere that felt familiar and comforting to me. The sound of cans clinking as customers picked up their goods, the rustle of wrapping paper, and the low conversations between neighbors while they waited to be served were all part of the daily rhythm of the store.

I loved helping stack and organize these products. Each item had its place, and my father emphasized the importance of keeping everything impeccably tidy. He believed that a well-organized store reflected respect for the customers, and this became evident as neighbors entered, confident and satisfied with their purchases. There was something deeply gratifying about serving people, ensuring they had what they needed for their daily lives.

Then there were the bicycles. Hanging from the ceiling, they were objects of fascination, especially for me. I would watch as adults bought them, dreaming of the day I could have a bike of my own. There was something magical about seeing them lowered from the store’s beams, ready for new adventures. Bicycles symbolized freedom and fun, and for the families who took them home, they also meant progress and mobility — a way to explore beyond the town’s borders.

The Magic of Fabrics

If the side of everyday goods was functional and essential, the fabric side was where true magic happened. My mother, with a keen eye for beauty and aesthetics, took great care in organizing the fabric rolls. The shelves were filled with vibrant colors and intricate patterns that seemed to tell stories on their own. There were fabrics with geometric, floral, animal, and traditional African symbols, each piece radiating its own unique energy.

The women in the community would often come in groups, their eyes gleaming with excitement. For them, the fabrics were more than just cloth; they were a form of expression, an extension of their identity. Unlike the practical goods, which were necessary for daily life, the fabrics represented dreams, creativity, and the opportunity to create something new. I watched, fascinated, as they ran their fingers over the different materials, pondering which fabric best captured the essence of what they wanted to express. Often, they came with clear ideas of how the fabric would be used — for a dress, a capulana, or a special piece for an important occasion.

Though I was young, I could see the joy in their eyes when they found exactly what they were looking for. That was the magic of fabrics — they had the power to transform simple pieces of cloth into something much greater. Every cut of fabric that left the store marked the beginning of a new story, a new creation that would soon be seen in the streets, at parties, or at community ceremonies.

The Stories Behind the Fabrics

Each fabric, with its vibrant patterns, seemed to tell its own story. Many of the African fabrics we sold in the store came from other regions, and each pattern carried cultural and traditional symbolism. The women who bought these fabrics knew this and often chose patterns that had special meaning for them and their families. Floral patterns, for example, were often chosen for celebratory clothes, while more sober geometric designs were used for formal occasions.

I remember how the women would discuss among themselves, comparing fabrics and exchanging advice on which pattern would be best suited for a particular occasion. It was a true ritual of sharing and decision-making. For me, it was like watching art in motion. Though I couldn’t fully understand the complexity of their choices, I knew that the fabrics we sold were more than merchandise — they were an extension of life, culture, and tradition in our community.

The Joy of Seeing Creations Come to Life

Watching the women leave the store with their carefully chosen fabrics was one of my favorite moments. I knew that soon those pieces of cloth would be transformed into something beautiful and unique. Often, I would see the same women weeks later, walking through the streets wearing dresses or capulanas made from the fabrics they had bought at our store. Seeing the final product was a rewarding experience. I felt proud knowing that, in some way, our store was part of their lives and personal expressions.

It was as if, through selling those fabrics, we were contributing to something much larger than ourselves. I could see the sparkle in their eyes, the satisfaction as they left with their rolls of fabric, and I understood, even without words, that these moments represented much more than a simple purchase. It was a sharing of culture, identity, and creativity.

The Store’s Impact on the Community

My father’s store, with its two contrasting yet complementary sides, was a reflection of life in Santa Comba. On one side, the essentials for everyday survival; on the other, the cultural richness and personal expression through fabrics. The store was a microcosm of our community, where practicality and art came together.

For me, the duality between essential goods and fabrics was fascinating. Both sides were necessary, each serving a vital role in people’s lives. I learned that commerce wasn’t just about selling but about providing something meaningful to people’s lives — whether it was food for the body or fabric for the soul.

The Role of Family: Mother, Father, and Displays

Working alongside my mother was, without a doubt, one of my greatest joys. From an early age, I saw in her a strong and skilled woman, who could turn simple work routines into moments of great meaning. My father’s store was much more than a business to us; it was a space where our family united around a common purpose, and it was there, next to my mother, that I began to learn about the value of effort and dedication.

The Bond with My Mother

The days we spent together arranging the store’s displays were moments of bonding and learning that are forever etched in my memory. The displays were more than just showcases of products; they were the first impression customers had of the store. My mother knew this and had an innate talent for creating attractive and inviting displays that caught the attention of passersby.

I clearly remember how she paid attention to every detail, from the choice of colors to the arrangement of the products. Nothing was left to chance. Every can of preserves, every bar of soap, every piece of fabric was placed with precision, highlighting the products in the best possible way. It was like assembling a puzzle, where each piece had to fit perfectly to form a harmonious image.

With my small hands, I helped her in this task. She would ask me to bring certain products or arrange the lower shelves, and as we worked, she explained to me the importance of presenting products in an orderly and appealing way. I didn’t fully understand the impact of it at the time, but I knew there was a reason for each choice we made. My mother, with her patience and care, taught me that in commerce, every detail matters, and that a well-organized display could make the difference between a customer entering the store or walking past.

The Choice of Fabrics and Creativity

One of the most special moments during these workdays with my mother was when it came time to choose the fabrics for the display. We knew that African fabrics were one of the store’s main attractions, and my mother had a keen eye for identifying which colors and patterns would catch the most attention. She loved to play with combinations, mixing vibrant patterns with more neutral tones to create a visual contrast that showcased the richness of the materials.

I helped her unroll the fabric rolls, and together we chose which ones would be the stars of the display that week. I remember how my eyes would light up as the fabrics were unfurled, revealing their colors and textures. My mother always involved me in the decisions, asking me which I thought matched a certain product or which color would stand out better in the sunlight streaming through the store windows.

Those moments taught me that even the simplest details, like the choice of a color, had a significant impact on the store’s success. Later, I understood that my mother wasn’t just teaching me about aesthetics but about the power of understanding people. She knew that the women who came into the store looking for fabrics were seeking more than just clothing. They wanted something that reflected their personality, culture, and identity. And it was our job, through the displays, to offer that connection.

My Father: The Pillar of the Store

While my mother had an innate talent for organizing displays and selecting fabrics, my father, João de Deus Chaves, was the store’s pillar, the heart that kept everything running. He was responsible for the practical decisions and the relationships with customers. He knew every customer by name, understood what each family needed, and always treated everyone with respect and attention.

I admired the way my father could create an atmosphere of trust and friendship in the store. He had a gift for talking with people, and even on the busiest days, he never failed to take a few minutes to listen to each customer’s concerns or stories. To him, the store wasn’t just a commercial space; it was a place where he cultivated relationships that went beyond the simple exchange of goods. He would often say, “A store is only as strong as the trust it builds with people.”

My father was also a great supporter of my mother’s ideas. He knew that her work in organizing the displays was essential to attracting new customers and keeping them loyal to the store. Though he was more reserved and practical, he fully trusted my mother’s judgment when it came to presentation and aesthetics. Together, they formed an unbeatable team — he with his business acumen and relationships, and she with her sense of aesthetics and organization.

Childhood Lessons: Attention to Detail

Those moments alongside my parents, working in the store, were fundamental to my growth. I learned from an early age that the success of any endeavor depends on attention to detail. I saw how my mother cared for each piece of fabric, each product on the shelves, and how my father valued every customer who entered the store. The store wasn’t just a place where we sold goods; it was a space where we built relationships and became part of people’s lives.

These lessons stayed with me throughout my life. Working beside my mother, helping organize displays, and learning from my father about the importance of human relationships taught me much more than commerce. They taught me that in everything we do, from small gestures to major decisions, there is an impact on the lives of others. And often, it’s the small actions, the ones that seem insignificant, that matter the most.

The Lasting Impact

Those displays were a reflection of our family and teamwork. Each piece of fabric and product carefully arranged represented the collective effort of my parents and their love for what they did. Looking back, I see that working alongside them not only gave me a strong work ethic but also a deep understanding of the value of caring for others. The art of commerce, as I learned in those days at the store, was an art of service — of being present, paying attention, and making sure every customer felt important and respected.

Working with the displays was my first introduction to responsibility and the beauty of caring for details. Even though they were small tasks at the time, I knew, deep down, that we were doing something bigger — creating a space that united people, a store that was more than just a place of commerce. It was a place of community, of family.