"Will you not come to my aid, or are you waiting for the problem to worsen?" A voice, tinged with desperation, echoes from a seated figure on the porch, her hands clenched in worry, eyes fixed on the bustling street corner with its food vendors.
A young girl emerges from a neighboring house, her headscarf draped loosely around her shoulders, the wind playing with strands of her hair.
She approaches the seated woman and asks, "What can I do for you?"
Like a guardian angel, amidst the chaos, the girl responds, "It's not Huzaifa... I've heard your cries, and if I turn you away today, will you not think me heartless? Come with me to Laure's house; she's charging fifty for a meal, forty for a glass of water. I'll buy you a meal with the little I have left."
The girl's eyes well up with tears as she says, "Today, too, may our sorrows be in the hands of God."
Brushing aside the girl's hand, the woman, in distress, says, "If I drink from your cup today, will you have enough for tomorrow, or will I find myself begging again?"
She reaches for the cup, adjusts her headscarf, and prepares to leave, knowing today holds no promise, even in this semblance of sustenance.
Filled with gratitude, the woman nods, acknowledging the girl's kindness.
Meanwhile, in Habiba's household, preparations for the evening meal are underway. The mother, Habiba, sits on a low stool, kneading dough, while her daughter, Ruma, stands nearby, observing. Habiba looks up and asks Ruma where Sani's tools are.
Ruma replies, "Please, Habiba, Sani borrowed them; Mama wanted me to hurry back."
Habiba responds, "Oh, Ruma, you know Sani can keep things for days. Just go and get them from him, we need them for dinner."
Ruma, hesitant, responds, "I swear he won't give them back; you should send someone else. I'll go and come back quickly."
With a hint of annoyance, Habiba says, "No, he won't return them willingly, you go, and if he refuses, you insist. I'll be here waiting."
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