More than enough

the first time she

nts are designed: under the heat, under pressure, under everyone's eyes. They had been standing for

ht against the wind. One second she was there, swaying gently, and the next,

Someone poured water on her. Someone else said she was prete

exhaustion. And her body,

was always worse than tears. Baba Tunde didn't come. He was working always working. Fixing generators, patching lea

yes behind the counter. They ran a few tests. Nothing t

e monitoring her more. Children wi

sn't she? Monitoring, feeding, praying, doing it all. But somehow,

t, things

o barefoot nonsense. "Don't stress yourself" became a daily anthem. Teachers gave her looks half pity, half

hate

es. Hiding pain like it was some shameful secret. Because when you're a child and the wo

r mother, "Why did Go

en she said, gently, "Maybe so yo

nderstand that. But she

arder. Even as the whispers grew louder. Even as her own bo

she was learning the art of endurance. The qui

e