Ngoswe Kitovu Cha Uzembe Here

Shabani looked at the tree. Then he looked at his veranda—the cracked slab, the rusted roof, the post that children were afraid to touch. He looked at Ngoswe waking around him: Mama Nuru pumping water, boda-boda drivers revving engines, children racing to school.

Shabani squinted. “A peanut that lost its way?” ngoswe kitovu cha uzembe

One afternoon, a stranger came to Ngoswe. He was a wiry old man with a walking stick and eyes that seemed to have been boiled in tea for too long. He wore a faded army jacket and carried nothing but a small wooden box. Shabani looked at the tree