I’ve never met anyone whose father went to prison. Actually I don’t know anyone – friend, acquaintance, neighbour – who has been a guest of the Government Of Kenya. Wait, my cousin Farouk went to prison.
She’s got small shoulders. Small because they can’t carry the weight of the world yet. The weight she carries is her own weight. The weight of innocuous things like whether her best friend is loyal to only her or is loyal to the other girls.
In the long echoing corridor, a man leans his bicycle against the wall. He does it gently, like he’s afraid to bruise it. Like you would lay an infant in its cot. It’s one of those waif,