“It’s going to be nice,” says my mother.
She stood up, grabbed my hand and led me out of the hut.
Walking down the dry path we already saw the crowd setting wood in its place.
We walk around the site one, twice, thrice.
“It’s the tradition,” says my mother. “It keeps us safe.”
A girl sits on the floor, not far from the wood. Her mother feeds her the special leaves and the root.
“Chew well,” says the mother.
The girl cries. Continue reading