“Mother,” she said, “teach me to remember.”
That was when Hera Oyomba removed her necklace—a string of cowrie shells and the knucklebone of a python. She placed it on the ground and began to sing. Not a song of healing. A song of remembering. HERA OYOMBA BY OTIENO JAMBOKA
The new chief—a girl of twelve years who had been hiding in a baobab tree during the flood—went to the hut and knelt. “Mother,” she said, “teach me to remember
“Mother,” she said, “teach me to remember.”
That was when Hera Oyomba removed her necklace—a string of cowrie shells and the knucklebone of a python. She placed it on the ground and began to sing. Not a song of healing. A song of remembering.
The new chief—a girl of twelve years who had been hiding in a baobab tree during the flood—went to the hut and knelt.