Who does he think he is, talking about my life like that as if he knows anything about me. Jimma hissed and kicked the trash on the dusty floor. Somewhere behind the compound, he could hear the bleating of sheep and goats. Jimma shook his head at the hypocrisy. He could still remember how his father had scorned him for picking up sheepherding as a profession. But now…Jimma shrugged.
His father was like a double-edged sword. Always displaying that self, weak old side when he feels he was the victim, but putting up the intelligent side when he was the victor.
I regret coming here. Jimma rustled but bit his tongue this time. The words of his father played in his head again and he could almost imagine his bones crawling out of his skin. The smell of this village was disgusting. He hated the
