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One weekend morning, I accompanied my mum to the local market for our regular fruit and veg shopping. My mother continued browsing when I volunteered to take the shopping back to the vehicle, which was packed into a small rolling cart. It resembled a Mary Poppins bag – rather compact, but it was surprising how much you could fit inside. That's what we believed.

With the trolley heaving under the load of an already full load of supplies, my mum placed a box of honeydew melons on top. She warned me to be cautious getting it back to the car.

All was going well as I made my way through the crowds of shoppers and out of the market. But as I was crossing the chaotically busy main crossing into the market, the trolley became lodged on the road divider in the middle of the road, and the box of melons fell to the pavement. They scattered, spectacularly tumbling out towards passersby and waiting cars.

As the little walking man switched from green to red, I was stunned, speechless, trying to process how I was going to retrieve the melons shooting in multiple directions.

Out of nowhere, a group of several older women sprang to my assistance. Silver-haired, head scarves and one with a walking stick – they looked like they had emerged of the same nesting doll. They weren’t deterred by the cars inching their way towards us. Completely brave, they just raised their hands to stop the vehicles, in each direction. They gathered all the melons for me, retrieving a solitary melon, as I fixed the box to hold them.

I expressed gratitude to them and they remained silent, just grinned and gestured me farewell. I never consumed the melons – I was never a real fan of honeydew melon – but I tell this story frequently because I love it so much.

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