<p>She hurriedly ran, almost stumbling, as she approached a large grocery store in the market. The store had fruits everywhere. Unfortunately, the woman she was chasing had already finished paying for her fruits, hooked her handbag onto her shoulder, and picked up her heavy shopping bags before walking away.</p><p>Ikraam didn’t give up. She kept running after her, calling, “Anty, Anty!” The woman turned around quickly, and in her haste, one of her bags slipped from her hand, spilling its contents onto the ground. Bracelets, necklaces, and shoes scattered everywhere.</p><p>Ikraam immediately dropped the wood she was holding, knelt down, and exclaimed, “Oh no, you didn’t hold the bag properly.” She quickly gathered the items and put them back into the bag. Once she finished, she lifted the bag onto her head and said, “Let me help you carry it, Anty.”</p><p>The woman, who was much older than Ikraam, smiled and looked at her. “It’s okay, young lady,” she said.</p><p>Ikraam frowned and insisted, “No, Anty, I must help you.”</p><p>The woman chuckled, set one of her other bags down, and pulled out a five-hundred-naira note from her small purse. She handed it to Ikraam and said, “Here you go, young lady. Just go on your way.”</p><p>Ikraam, almost on the verge of tears, shook her head. “No, I have to help you.”</p><p>The woman laughed even more this time. “Alright then, let’s go, my dear.”</p><p>As they walked together, Ikraam kept eyeing the bag of fruits in the woman’s hand. That was her main reason for offering to help. They walked out of the market and reached the roadside, where the woman kept thanking her. Ikraam carefully took the bag off her head and placed it down.</p><p>“What’s your name, my dear?” the woman asked.</p><p>“My name is Rabi’atu, but everyone calls me Ikraam—Ammi, Abba, and even my neighbors. Ammi said my uncle Lado wanted me to be named Rabi’a after his late sister. But Ammi said she wanted to name me after her mother. Anyway, I don’t like that uncle Lado. He’s very mean, especially to Ammi, Abba, and even me. His wife, Shatu, is also wicked. If Ammi sends me to her house, she always hits me before I return home. And their daughter is no better; she also beats me sometimes—”</p><p>The woman cut her off with laughter. “Oh, Ikraam, I just asked for your name.”</p><p>Ikraam pouted. “But I told you—my name is Rabi’a, but my teacher calls me Rabi’a because she says we should use our real names in school. One time, another girl in my class—”</p><p>The woman kept laughing and looking at Ikraam with amusement. “Okay, Ikraam, I get it. Now hurry home before they start looking for you.”</p><p>Ikraam frowned and played with the hem of her skirt. “Anty, you haven’t given me the banana I saw in your bag.”</p><p>The woman sighed. “Oh, I didn’t know you wanted some, Ikraam.” She opened another bag and handed Ikraam several bananas and apples.</p><p>Ikraam grinned widely. “Anty, you haven’t told me your name.”</p><p>The woman turned and smiled. “My name is Hajiya Amina, but everyone calls me Mami.”</p><p>Ikraam immediately responded, “Then I won’t call you Hajiya Amina. I’ll call you Mami.”</p><p>Mami chuckled. “Alright, dear.” She handed her the bag of fruits. “So, what did you come to the market for, Ikraam?”</p><p>Just as Ikraam was about to answer, Mami’s phone rang. She pulled it out, answered the call, and said, “Oh, sorry, I see your car now. I didn’t notice when you passed.” Then she ended the call and turned to Ikraam. “Alright, dear, go home now. May God bless you.”</p><p>Ikraam hesitated. “But you haven’t left either. Should I stop a taxi for you?”</p><p>Mami smiled, patting Ikraam’s head. “Someone is coming to pick me up.”</p><p>Before she could finish her sentence, a sleek car pulled up in front of them. Ikraam’s eyes widened in surprise. “Are you getting in this car?”</p><p>Before Mami could respond, the driver stepped out. He looked at them and said, “Mami, you’ve been waiting? Sorry, there was a traffic jam.”</p><p>Mami smiled. “Oh, I wasn’t waiting long; we just got here.”</p><p>The young man approached to take Mami’s bags. Ikraam grabbed onto one of them and asked, “Anty, who is this?”</p><p>The young man paused and glanced at her. She, however, kept her eyes on Mami, waiting for an answer.</p><p>Mami laughed. “He’s my son.”</p><p>Ikraam gasped and covered her mouth. “This big boy is your son?”</p><p> </p>
