At the junction where she usually bought bananas to resell, the fruit trader, Madam Chika, noticed her stumbling in.
“Mama Bridge, your eyes are red. Are you okay?”
Sarah tried to smile. “I’m a little sick. Just give me small bananas. I’ll sell and bring your money later.”
Madam Chika hesitated, then shook her head. “Mama, your hands are shaking. You have a fever. Go and rest. No bananas today.”
Sarah’s lips quivered. Her legs buckled.
“Please,” she whispered. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
Madam Chika sighed and reached into a cooler, pulling out a sachet of water. She handed it to Sarah.
“I know. I won’t give you bananas on credit, but take this. Go and buy medicine. You can die outside.”
Sarah took the water gratefully and drank every drop.
Her hands still trembled.
Her vision blurred.
She turned and began the slow walk toward the small chemist shop by the roadside.
It was not a proper pharmacy—just a wooden kiosk with faded drug posters peeling off the walls. A young man sat inside, earphones in, scrolling through his phone.
When Sarah arrived, she leaned against the wooden frame.
“My son, please. I have fever. My body is hot. I don’t have much money.”
The young man looked her over and rolled his eyes.
“Old woman, I’m not a doctor. I’m just an attendant.”
“Please, just give me anything. Small medicine. My head is spinning.”
He pointed at a shelf. “How much do you have?”
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