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Anuli had grabbed two twenty-litre clay water pots. She mumbled a greeting to her mother and lightly bumped into her elder sister “You are standing in the way…” she murmured. Mmecha was upset. She stared at her sister with disdain. Anuli had broken into her morning fantasies. When would the young, strong man come to take her and make all those stories her Mother had told them about their father happen for her? Anuli simply ignored her and stepped back into the hut briefly to pick up two large pieces of cloth. They looked dull and dirty, not obviously dirty because of the dark colours but any keen observer could tell neither had been washed in quite a while. Anuli threw one in Mmecha’s direction and carefully rolled the other up into something that looked like a wheel whose diameter was small enough to sit on her head – a head pad for carrying water pots. It did not bother her that the head pad she had just constructed would make a mess of her plaits done with rubber threads. They were coming loose already anyway. Mmecha had similar plaits. It was common fashion for young girls of Igbo descent throughout Eastern Nigeria.