On the eleventh day, Tunu opened the shop at half past seven. She cleaned the repair bench, moved the boxes blocking the aisle and arranged the chargers in rows. Beka arrived and brought the extinguisher that had been sitting beneath the counter for months.
“Where should we put it?” he asked.
“Somewhere that does not block the door.”
“Cartons are there.”
“Move the cartons to storage.”
They were still moving them when Bi. Salma arrived with a technical inspector carrying a tape measure, a small camera and a clipboard with a checklist. Salma knew Tunu by her case number, but did not smile in a way that offered a favour.
“Should we begin with the registration file or the premises?” the inspector asked.
Salma said, “The premises. The file is only one part.”
Tunu felt her stomach tighten. She had spent the night arranging receipts but had not thought about the socket behind the bench. The inspector went directly to an extension wrapped in tape.
“Where does this come from?”
“The internal power line,” Tunu said.
“It is held with tape.”
“It was temporary.”
“For how long?”
Tunu had no date. Beka looked down.
The inspector photographed the socket, then examined the extinguisher. Its inspection date had passed two months earlier. He opened the path between the counter and bench; three boxes made it narrower than it should be.
“Is this aisle for customers?”
“Yes.”
“Then keep it clear.”
Tunu wanted to say that Faraji had complained because of the transfer, not the wire. Salma read it on her face.
“Being harassed is not right,” Salma said, “but ignoring this wire is not right either.”
Tunu fell silent. The sentence stopped her from building a story in which every fault had been created by the rumor.
The inspector asked for the current registration copy. Tunu took out the folder. Salma marked the ownership file with *pending prior trader transfer* on the inspection sheet, then confirmed that the case receipt was still within its active window. She did not write that Tunu had passed; she wrote that the business was operating under review and its ownership status was not complete.
“This section may allow you to continue for a while,” Salma said, touching the receipt. “It does not make the technical defects disappear.”
“I will fix them today.”
“Do not promise today if you do not have a technician.”
Tunu called the electrician who had helped Amina before. He could come that evening but needed a deposit. Tunu opened the cashbook at the day’s page. She had money from two repairs, part of Beka’s wages and a sum set aside for rent. She paid the deposit after the speaker customer paid the remaining balance.
The inspector moved to storage. He saw batteries in a tray without labels showing their condition. Tunu told Beka to separate used and new ones. Beka worked quickly, and the inspector asked whether he knew how to handle them.
“I am learning,” Beka said.
“Then keep a learning record. Do not give someone a task without knowing who performed each step.”
Tunu wrote Beka’s name in the training notebook and added a Friday review date. It cost time, but it showed her that the shop depended more on her private memory than on a system another person could follow.
At the counter, the inspector found a receipt book where Tunu had written cash sales and repair deposits on one page. He asked for the difference.
“A deposit is a liability until the work is complete,” Tunu said.
“Where do you show it?”
Tunu opened a back page. She had not totalled it each day; she had relied on the ticket. The inspector did not write a violation, but recorded *separate deposit reconciliation required*. Tunu knew it was a real task, not bureaucratic punishment.
The inspector asked her to show where refunds and deposits were recorded. Tunu produced the Saturday customer’s ticket. It showed the deposit, the phone’s arrival date, the completion date and the customer’s signature, but the refund for the changed adhesive had no reference. Tunu admitted that she had written the note on her private phone.
“If your phone is lost, the record is lost,” the inspector said.
“I will enter it in the book today.”
“Write it as a correction today, not as if it was always there.”
Tunu marked the page as a correction. Beka opened another ticket and began counting unsettled deposits. There were only four, but four were enough to make the cashbook depend on money that was not yet the shop’s.
Salma asked Beka, “What do you do if a customer returns before the repair?”
“I find the ticket, show the status and return the phone if they have not approved another step.”
“Whose procedure is that?”
Beka looked at Tunu. “We started writing it after the rumors.”
“Then continue after the rumors end,” Salma said.
Tunu wrote that answer in the training notebook with the inspection date.
They went through the checklist. Every item had an action, not a general accusation. Salma read them aloud: the taped extension, extinguisher date, clear aisle, battery labels and deposit reconciliation. Each had a deadline or a next action.
“And the ownership?” Tunu asked.
“The prior trader transfer is still pending. That is not a bench defect. It is a document track.”
“Faraji may say I failed inspection.”
“If you post a status notice, say the technical items required correction. Do not say you received a clean pass.”
Tunu requested a copy of the sheet. Salma gave it to her after recording the handover. Beka photographed the page without showing the inspector’s identification.
At midday, Tunu bought a new extinguisher with part of the cash set aside for a small order. The electrician promised to come within seventy-two hours. They moved the boxes, labelled the batteries, and opened a new deposit page. The shop looked cleaner, but the cashbook looked thinner.
As Salma left, she told Tunu, “Do not put all the pressure on the transfer. Your wire is yours.”
Tunu answered, “I understand.”
When she closed the checklist in the folder, she saw two dates written in blue ink: **WIRING — 72 HOURS. OWNERSHIP TRANSFER — 10 DAYS.**
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