A mother’s arms.
Back under the bridge, Sarah watched a small girl dance barefoot in the dust. Her laughter reminded Sarah of Agu’s first steps—how he used to chase butterflies in the village, how he used to cling to her wrapper.
She shook the memory away and stood up slowly, her bones creaking.
It was time to hawk.
With her rusted wheelbarrow half-filled with bananas, she pushed herself onto the road, merging into the noise of Enugu’s rush-hour traffic.
Two lives. One city.
A mother with no child.
A son with no mother.
And fate watching quietly, ready to collide their worlds in a way neither could imagine.
The sun was already high when Sarah reached the edge of Ogbete Market. Her bones ached from the previous day, but she did not slow down. With both hands gripping the squeaky wheelbarrow, she pushed forward. Each step was a silent battle.
The wheelbarrow held two bunches of ripe bananas, slightly spotted but still sweet. She had collected them on credit from a trader that morning and promised to pay back half the money after the sales.
It was not business.
It was survival.
“Banana for your children! Fine bananas! Sweet! Madam, take them cheap! Not for profit—just to fight hunger!”
She cried out in Igbo and broken pidgin as she wove between motorcyclists, market women, and restless buyers.
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