She speaks often of sunnier times. playing kabbadi with her sisters and trips to Mombasa seaside. on the rainier days, she helps me to navigate this world when my mind is too loud. Our language is, to me, the most comforting sounds with its borrowed words and familiar intonation. embodying the journey of a displaced generation that they never taught us about. Here we are now in this northern estate, my heart still fills when we share a plate. sat together on the rug, we tear the bread and pass it around.

I am the granddaughter of a sleepless shapeshifter who has demonstrated sacrifice and strength in equal proportions. She will defend her pride endlessly. with sleeves firmly rolled since the moment she crossed the ocean. She reminds me often, that she raised me in my parents’ absence. I do not know, still, who is the most proud. but I promise you she has a wicked laugh. One that has brought tears to my eyes and probably always will. I have the privilege to know how that sounds.


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