I preferred being on that side—even though, at times, it felt like I was slowly drifting away from my mother and my brother.
That thought haunted me quietly.
But another part of me breathed freely there. Away from old streets. Away from memories that still carried blood and sirens. Away from the place where my life almost ended.
Out there, my chest felt lighter.
Learning the language wasn’t easy.
I could write Sesotho well enough, but pronouncing it betrayed me every time. My tongue refused to cooperate, twisting words into something unfamiliar. Still, they were patient with me. They laughed with me, not at me.
One afternoon, my great-great grandmother arrived from Lesotho.
She had travelled all that way just to see me.
I watched her walk across the yard—slow but steady, her back b
