I stepped off the plane and inhaled deeply—like the air in this city still knew me by name. It feels good to be back home.
Everything about home was smaller than Washington, but somehow heavier, more real.
Here, the work didn’t echo through microphones or sit under polished lights. It whispered across garden beds and in quiet “thank yous” from women rediscovering their voices.
Raymond met me at the gate with Miranda balanced on his hip.
“Mommy!” she squealed.
I hugged her so tight she giggled and gasped.
“You came back,” she whispered into my shoulder.
“Always.”
“I missed you so much mummy, I have lots of gist for you,” Miranda said as she hugged me.
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That night, after dinner and after enough gist about my travel experience, Miranda finally fell asleep—clutching her flower-sh
