The seventh day began with an unusual quiet on Mavuno Street. Tunu arrived at half past seven, before Beka, because she wanted to switch on the shop lights and check Salim’s repair before the queue began. As she approached the shutter, she saw red in the middle of the metal.
The sticker was larger than an ordinary advertisement. Across it were the words **INSPECTION FAILED — CLOSE UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE**, a mark resembling a stamp, and a smaller line: **TRADER STATUS UNDER REVIEW**. There was no case number and no officer’s date.
Tunu stopped two steps away. Her heart began to race, but her hands stayed in her jacket pockets. She took out her phone and photographed the entire sticker, then its curled corner. She wrote down the time and the light in her notebook. She knew she could tear it down in anger, but a photograph taken after tearing it would leave too many questions.
Beka arrived with his apron tied. When he saw the shutter, the tea in his hand trembled.
“Have we been closed?”
“I do not know. Do not touch it.”
“But it is on the shutter.”
“A sticker is not an officer.”
Amina came out of Kalamu Stationery holding a key. “I saw someone put something on my window last night. I thought it was a poster.”
Mosi, the man from the shoe shop opposite, came over carrying a phone with a cracked camera lens. “My camera looks toward the loading bay. I cannot say it caught a face, but we can check the time.”
Tunu called Bi. Salma at the service-centre number on the receipt. Salma answered after two rings.
“Case number?”
Tunu gave it. “There is a sticker on the shutter saying inspection failed and close until further notice.”
Salma did not tell her to remove it. “Wait while I check the record.”
The seconds stretched. Beka watched two people pass and read the sticker. One called someone else. Tunu saw the rumor gaining an image.
“Tunu,” Salma said, “I see no closure action on your case. I see no inspection last night. No official sticker can lack a case number and issuing record.”
“So it is fake?”
“I am saying it has not been verified as official. Preserve the evidence. Photograph every side. Do not accuse someone you did not see.”
“And the shop?”
“If there is no closure order and your window is active, you may continue. Remove the sticker only after preserving the photographs. I will send written confirmation.”
Tunu saved Salma’s message in the case folder. Amina read it quickly. “People are already taking pictures.”
“Let them. I will put the facts together.”
Mosi led them into his small shoe room. The camera monitor had green lines across it and a date four minutes slow. They rewound to four in the morning, then moved forward slowly. A shadow crossed the veranda and stopped in front of Duka la Kesho. The person wore a cap, a black shirt and trousers folded at the ankle. The person looked both ways, took a sticker from a pocket and fixed it with the left hand.
“His phone is lit,” Beka said.
“The face is not visible,” Mosi replied. “Do not guess.”
In one frame, the person turned slightly. There was a white paint mark on the shirt’s elbow, but it was not enough to identify anyone. Tunu asked Mosi for a copy of the clip with its date and time. Mosi said he would put it on a memory card after Juma the landlord allowed the camera to be used for the shop’s case.
Mzee Juma arrived in sandals and a light robe. He saw the sticker and frowned.
“This is not from my building.”
“How do you know?” Tunu asked.
“I know my receipts and the notices I issue. This uses office words, but not the stamp I use for rent.”
“Were you told by someone in the market that I would be closed?”
Juma looked at the people passing. “I was told. I did not call it a fact.”
A customer who had come to collect a repaired phone arrived while the sticker was still on the shutter. After reading *inspection failed*, he put his envelope back in his pocket.
“I will pay after I see confirmation,” he said.
Tunu showed him Salma’s message and told him he could take the phone without adding any payment. The customer read it, but still did not want to stand in the crowd. Tunu did not follow or persuade him. She knew fear was part of the day’s cost, and one sentence would not remove it.
Beka said quietly, “We could keep the shutter half open.”
“No. If we open, we open with a record. If we close, it must be because we know why.”
Tunu called Salma again for a clear instruction. After confirming there was no closure, she took a small scraper from the drawer and removed the sticker slowly without cutting it. She put it in an evidence envelope and wrote the date, time and everyone present. Beka opened the shutter. Light from inside entered the walkway.
A woman going toward the bus stand stopped. “You are opening after being closed?”
Tunu showed her the case receipt without revealing personal information. “This is the office status. The sticker had no case number. If you have a question, you can call this number.”
The woman read it and handed it back. “Then I will come later.”
Beka exhaled. “See? People will say we made drama.”
“People will say anything. The evidence will say what was photographed.”
Amina looked at the envelope. “Will you report Faraji?”
“I do not have his face in the video.”
“But he has an interest.”
“Interest is not proof.”
They put the sticker and the memory-card request inside a plastic sleeve. Salma sent a second message: *Keep evidence. Do not circulate faces or accuse. A formal note can be attached to the case.* Tunu printed it on Amina’s printer and wrote the case number at the top.
That night Tunu replayed Mosi’s video. The first frame showed an empty shutter. The last showed the hand holding the sticker. The camera never reached the person’s face. In the video, the hand places the sticker at 10:17 that night—but the face remains outside the frame.
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