The stalls just beyond the last houses of the town’s main street were crowded with buyers arguing and sellers hawking. Hunting for an open space where she could display her fish, Amma navigated around the outside of the noisy throng. She was too late to choose a stall, but she hoped for a location with some shade to preserve her catch from the sun. The smell of long gone fish already wafted off the wheelbarrow’s hot metal.
Finally, she came upon a baker whose loaves were nearly gone and wedged the wheelbarrow into the shadow of the woman’s wooden stall. “Good day,” offered Amma to the baker, who was dressed in a bright, clean yellow. Not a hint of flour dusted the fine cloth. She sat on a tall stool with the air of a queen.
“Good day,” the woman repeated, glancing away.
Amma wondered if
