Kadra Mohamed walks into an old haunt, the Grocery and Meat Market on the city's north side, where as a girl she shopped with her mother. She breathes in the heady smell of Somali spices, halal meat and the bread she has loved since growing up in a nearby public housing project. Two girls in silky abaya gowns rush to embrace her, their mother standing back shyly. The market's owner, Abdi Mohamed, steps from behind his shelves. "Kadra, it's you," he says in the lilting Somali language. He asks about her mother, then pauses. "It's good to see you in uniform."
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