Sod was finishing packing the last bunches of plantains at her stand when she saw a familiar figure in the distance. Her mother, Bimbo, was there, but she had not come for her. She stood with her back turned, speaking with someone, a figure leaning against the tobacco stall, wrapped in a wine-colored scarf that covered part of her face.
Sod narrowed her eyes, tilted her head, trying to make out the silhouette. The conversation looked tense. The woman was gesturing nervously, and Bimbo seemed to be trying to calm her down. Before she could get closer, the woman slipped away down the side of the market, vanishing between sacks of rice and herb vendors.
Sod ran to her mother.
“Mama.”
“Oh, Sod, are you done already? I just came to buy tobacco for your uncle,” she answered too quickly, her eyes darting like she had ants in her shoes.
“Who was that woman you were talking to?”
“What woman?”
“The one with the scarf leaning on the stall. I saw her. Mama, you were talking to her.”
“Sod, please don’t start. It must have been some vendor asking me for change. I didn’t even see who it was. Come on, let’s go home. It’s already getting dark.”
Bimbo grabbed the basket and hurried away, leaving no room for further questions.
Sod stood frozen for a few seconds. The smell of dried fish felt sour. The air seemed stuck between the teeth of time.
A lie.
And a bad one.
In the days that followed, Sod could not forget that moment. Her mind became a sleepless mill.
Why was her mother hiding things? Who was that woman? Why did she look so scared?
Until one muggy Thursday, the truth began to peel away like yam skin.
Sod was crossing the packed dirt alley, returning from Dona Qualommo’s candy stand, when her eyes locked with that same woman.
She was standing next to the village well, a bucket in hand. She wore a simple burnt-orange dress and a white scarf over her poorly braided hair. But what caught Sod was her face.
It was like looking into a broken mirror.
The woman had the same spots on her face as Sod, the same jaw structure, the same strange eyes, one slightly larger than the other, with an iris that changed color under the sun.
She was older, perhaps five years older, but it was like seeing herself distorted by time.
Sod froze.
The woman saw her too. Her eyes widened with a fear that screamed silently. The bucket slipped from her hands and fell to the ground with a dull thud. She covered her mouth and began to cry in silence. Tears streamed down her face as if a secret river had overflowed inside her.
Sod did not say a word, but she felt a knot in her chest, as if all the air had been sucked out by the well.
Who are you?
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