• 6 •
‘It’s Khamila, Lulu. Khamila.’
I was shouting, as with horror and in cruel disappointment my now wide-open eyes absorbed the same foul sight as before; the sight that had distressed me when I entered my old house and room with the venerable mother, Juwairia, and saw what was left of my things and remembered those that had gone, before collapsing unconscious. The wardrobe was wide open and I could see a woman’s shirt made out of glittery yellow material that sparkled in the daylight. On an upper shelf, in the same place where I kept my cosmetics, were a necklace of coloured gemstones, a red hairband, and a bottle of yellow liquid. I blinked several times and saw Umm Juwairia hunched unsteadily next to me. She was holding my hand and reciting prayers. Then, unable to silence me, she
