That afternoon, my mother brought me food, I couldn't see her because she did not want to see me. I understood because I knew my mother very well, she had her way of avoiding depression unlike me who faced situations and saw them as they were. I shared the food with the women because I was raised to share the little I had and it would have not sat right with my conscious if I ate and watched my colleagues starve.
In a few hours, I was called, I had a visitor and it was Timmy. Timmy's visit seemed off, there was something that did not give me peace about his coming that day and I knew something wasn't right.
"What is going on?" I asked because he also seemed uneasy.
"Mwinjileni, your mother was shot on her way out of the station, it was a moving shot..."
I stood from where I sat with a
