Everyone in the motor park was rushing.
Drivers were shouting destinations.
Conductors were dragging bags.
Night was already swallowing the sky.
Zainab stood beside her small box, counting the money in her hand for the third time.
₦1,800.
The transport fare to her village was ₦2,000.
She was short of ₦200.
It wasn’t the first time life was embarrassing her, but this one felt louder.
She had just finished her first year in school.
Her friends had gone home since morning.
She stayed back because she was waiting for her allowance that never came.
Her phone buzzed.
Mum:
“Have you entered bus?”
Zainab typed… deleted… typed again… deleted.
What do you tell your mother when you don’t even have transport money?
She finally replied:
“Yes ma.”
Lie number one.
The park was almost empty now.
Only one bus remained.
The driver shouted:
“Village road! Last bus!”
Zainab approached slowly and showed her money.
“Oga, I’m short of ₦200.”
The driver looked at her face, then her box.
“Go and look for it,” he said.
She stepped aside and sat on her box.
That was when she noticed the old woman beside her.
The woman had been watching her quietly.
“My daughter,” the woman said, “why are you crying without tears?”
Zainab didn’t plan to talk, but words fell out.
“I just finished school. I don’t have complete transport fare.”
The woman opened her bag and brought out bread and groundnuts.
She broke the bread into two and gave Zainab half.
“Eat first. Hunger makes problems look bigger.”
Zainab smiled weakly and ate.
Then the woman reached into her wrapper and brought out two ₦100 notes.
“Take.”
Zainab’s eyes widened.
“No ma, thank you.”
The woman smiled.
“When I was your age, someone helped me like this. Today is my turn.”
Zainab stood up slowly and went to the driver.
“I have it now.”
The driver took the money and nodded.
As she climbed into the bus, she looked back to thank the old woman.
The woman was already walking away.
The journey was long and rough.
At every bump, Zainab thought about that ₦200.
When she got home, her mother hugged her tightly.
That night, Zainab couldn’t sleep.
She kept thinking:
What if that woman was also struggling?
What if she needed that money more than I did?
Two years later, Zainab was doing her IT in town.
One evening, at a bus stop, she saw a young boy arguing with a conductor.
“I’m short of ₦300,” the boy said.
People were passing without looking.
Zainab searched her bag.
She had only ₦1,000.
She hesitated.
Then she remembered bread… and groundnuts… and two ₦100 notes.
She walked to the boy and paid his fare.
The boy looked shocked.
“Thank you, aunty.”
As he entered the bus, Zainab felt something warm inside her chest.
Not happiness.
Not pride.
Understanding.
Lesson (but in story tone):
Zainab learned that: Life moves in circles.
Kindness is a debt that never expires.
And help doesn’t always come from rich people
sometimes it comes from tired people who remember how it feels
