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One weekend morning, I accompanied my mum to the nearby market for our regular produce shop. Mum was still looking around when I offered to take the shopping back to the vehicle, which was stuffed into a little red trolley. It resembled a Mary Poppins bag – quite a small thing, but it was surprising how much you could load it up. That's what we believed.

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

All was going well as I weaved my way through the throngs of people and out of the market. But as I was crossing the hectic main crossing into the market, the trolley got stuck on the traffic island in the middle of the road, and the box of melons fell to the ground. They went flying, dramatically rolling out towards pedestrians and waiting cars.

As the little walking man changed from go to red, I was shocked, mouth agape, trying to process how I was going to retrieve the melons shooting in six different directions.

Suddenly, a band of three or four older women sprang to my assistance. White hair, head scarves and one with a walking stick – they appeared as if they had emerged of the same babushka doll. They didn't hesitate by the cars inching their way towards us. Utterly fearless, they just raised their hands to halt the traffic, in each direction. They collected all the melons for me, not missing a solitary melon, as I fixed the box to contain them.

I thanked them and they didn’t say a word, just smiled and gestured me goodbye. I never consumed the melons – I was not particularly fond of honeydew melon – but I share this anecdote all the time because I adore it so much.

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