Morning came slowly in Mushin.
The room was already warm when Zara opened her eyes. For a few seconds she stayed still, staring at the ceiling fan turning lazily above her.
The familiar sounds of the compound were already alive outside—someone pumping water, a radio playing old gospel music somewhere down the corridor, a child crying because they didn't want to bathe.
Zara rolled to her side and reached for her phone on the small table beside her mattress.
No new notifications.
She opened her email anyway.
Nothing.
The rejection message from a few days ago was still sitting there like a stubborn stain she couldn't wipe away. She stared at the subject line again, then quickly closed the app.
From the living room, she could hear her mother moving around. Pots clanged loudly in the kitchen, followed by the scrape of a chair across the floor.
"Zara!" her mother called.
Zara sat up slowly. "Yes, Mummy."
"You don wake?"
"I'm coming."
She tied her hair into a loose bun and stepped out into the small living room. Her mother was already dressed for the market, wrapper tied tightly around her waist, headscarf firm, handbag hanging from her shoulder.
Zara paused.
"You're going already?"
Her mother glanced at her briefly. "Yes."
Then she added, as if it was the most normal thing in the world,
"Go and wear something. You're following me."
Zara blinked.
"Following you… where?"
"To the market now."
Zara laughed a little, thinking it was a joke.
"Mummy, I thought you said you were going to the shop."
Her mother looked at her properly this time.
"Yes. That is where we are going."
Zara frowned.
"Why am I coming?"
Her mother adjusted her bag and sighed.
"Zara, go and change your clothes."
The tone in her voice made it clear this was not a suggestion.
Zara crossed her arms slowly.
"Mummy, I don't understand. Why should I follow you to the market?"
Her mother's eyes narrowed sternly.
"Why not?"
"Mummy, I'm not doing anything there."
"You will help me."
Zara shook her head.
"Help you with what? I need to start applying for more jobs today."
Her mother stared at her for a moment before letting out a short laugh.
"Applying for jobs," she repeated.
"Yes," Zara said firmly.
"I can't just sit around."
Her mother stepped closer.
"Sit around?" she said slowly.
"Is that not what you have been doing since morning?"
Zara felt heat rise to her face.
"I'm waiting for responses."
"From where?"
"Mummy…"
"You said they rejected you," her mother continued.
"So what exactly are you waiting for?"
Zara's voice weakened slightly.
"I'm still searching."
Her mother shook her head.
"Searching on your phone."
"Mummy—"
"So because you finished university now," her mother cut in, "you cannot follow me to the shop again?"
"That's not what I said."
"But that is what you mean."
Zara rubbed her forehead.
"Mummy, I'm a graduate."
Her mother's expression didn't change.
"You are also unemployed."
The words hung in the air.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Zara looked away first.
"I just don't want people to start thinking I'm selling in the market," she said defeated.
Her mother scoffed.
"Thinking?"
"Yes."
"So the problem is what people will think."
Zara hesitated.
Her mother picked up the shop keys from the table.
"Listen to me," she said firmly.
"Until this your big job comes, you will not sit in this house doing nothing."
"I'm not doing nothing."
"You will follow me today," her mother continued, ignoring her.
"Help me small. Work no kill person."
Zara opened her mouth to argue again, but something in her mother's face stopped her.
The conversation was already over.
Her mother was not asking.
She was telling.
Zara exhaled slowly.
"Fine," she muttered.
Her mother nodded once. "Good."
Zara turned and walked back to her room.
Behind her, her mother called out again.
"And wear something comfortable. Market no be fashion parade."
The market was already busy by the time they arrived.
Voices bounced in every direction—women calling out prices, customers bargaining loudly, generators ringing from different stalls. The narrow walkway between the shops was crowded with people moving in both directions at once.
Zara followed her mother carefully, holding her bag close to her body.
"Good morning, Mama Anita!" someone shouted.
"Morning, morning," her mother replied without slowing down.
Another woman waved. "You don come early today oh."
"My daughter follow me today," her mother replied.
Zara felt several heads turn immediately.
One woman sitting beside a pile of tomatoes leaned forward, squinting slightly.
"Ahh! Zara!"
Zara forced a polite smile. "Good morning, Aunty."
"You don finish school now!"
"Yes ma."
"So where you dey work?"
Zara hesitated.
Before she could answer, her mother spoke quickly.
"She just dey help me today," she said casually.
"Before she start her work."
The woman nodded slowly.
"Hmm. Work no easy now oh."
"That's true," her mother replied.
Another trader joined the conversation.
"This your daughter fine oh. University girl."
Zara smiled awkwardly.
Her mother unlocked the small shop and stepped inside.
"Zara, bring that stool."
Zara obeyed, placing it beside the entrance.
Soon customers began arriving.
"Madam, how much this one?"
"Two thousand."
"Ahh! Reduce am small."
"Take am one eight."
Zara watched quietly at first as her mother moved with easy confidence, picking items, calculating prices, speaking quickly.
After a while, her mother handed her a small stack of goods.
"Arrange this side."
Zara nodded and began placing them carefully on the shelf.
Another customer approached.
"Good afternoon."
"Afternoon," Zara replied politely.
"Give me two of that one."
Zara reached for the items and handed them over.
"How much?"
She glanced at her mother.
"Three thousand," her mother said.
The customer paid and left.
The hours passed faster than Zara expected.
She handed items to customers, counted small change, and occasionally stepped outside to stretch her legs.
At one point, a woman stopped in front of the stall and smiled widely.
"Zara! I heard you graduated."
"Yes ma."
"So when you start work?"
Zara opened her mouth.
Again, her mother answered first.
"Very soon," she said confidently.
The woman nodded approvingly.
"That's good. Make sure you help your mother oh."
Zara simply smiled.
By late afternoon, the crowd began to thin.
Her feet were slightly sore from standing, and sweat clung lightly to the back of her neck.
Her mother locked the small cash box and stretched her arms.
"You see?" she said casually.
"Market no bite."
Zara gave a small laugh.
"I didn't say it bites."
Her mother looked at her sideways.
"You just think you're too big for it."
Zara shook her head slowly. "That's not true."
Her mother didn't argue.
Instead she picked up her bag and stepped outside.
"Let's go."
Across the city, Sophie sat at her desk in her apartment.
The room was calm, the only sound coming from the soft tapping of her fingers on the laptop keyboard.
Her phone ranged beside her.
She glanced at the screen.
"Mum."
Sophie picked it up.
"Hello, Mum."
Her mother's voice came through clearly.
"Sophie, how are you?"
"I'm good."
"Are you busy tomorrow evening?"
Sophie leaned back in her chair.
"Not really. Why?"
"Come home for dinner."
Sophie smiled slightly. "Is something happening?"
"No," her mother said simply.
"I just want to see you."
Sophie nodded even though her mother couldn't see her.
"Okay. I'll come."
"Good," her mother replied.
"Drive safely when you're coming."
"I will."
They ended the call.
Sophie placed the phone back on the table and returned her attention to the laptop screen.
Outside her window, the evening city lights were beginning to glow.
Somewhere across Lagos, Zara and her mother were still making their way home through crowded streets.
But in Sophie's apartment, the night was just beginning.