Holiday from Hell

I was on my way home at last, I’d been counting down the days to my return flight since I arrived.  The ‘Call of the Wild’ was overexaggerated as far as I was concerned. I just could not wait for that blissful moment of sleeping in my own bed.  As it turned out, Africa had different plans for me.

The airport tannoy crackled into life. 

“The flight to Nairobi has been delayed.”

There was a groan from all the passengers.

“More information will follow.”

I looked down at my dust-encrusted attire, I really needed a shower; even I could smell how disgusting I was.  I just hoped that we would be aboard the turbo prop soon. 

“Today’s flight has been cancelled.”

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Where the Wild Things Are

It was the elders visiting for the third time this week that alerted me. The elders and the whispered words that blew across the yard, chilling my spine. “Ten cows.” “Wedding.” “Kutairi” (the cutting).

No-one speaks of my big sister, Amidah. But I remember. I remember the fifty-year-old man to whom she was promised, for a dowry of nine cows. The Ngarida (cutter). The rusty blade. The way they held her down and told her not to scream. The blood spreading over her white dress.

And afterwards, how her body was thrown into the Bush, where the wild things are. My beautiful sister. Fourteen years old to my seven. To escape the Lawalawa curse, there was to be no burial. No mention of her name.

I stopped speaking.

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