Saturday, 5 May 2012

Refugee mother and her child by Chinua Achebe

by Malaika Wa Azania on Monday, July 26, 2010 at 1:49am ·
No Madonna and Child could touch that picture of a mother's tenderness for a son she would soon have to forget...The air was heavy with odours of diarrhoea of unwashed children with washed-out ribs and dried-up bottoms struggling in laboured steps behind blown empty bellies...Most mothers here had long ceased to care but not this one.She held a ghost smile between her teeth and in her eyes the ghost of a mother's pride as she combed the rust-coloured hair left on his skull and then singing in her eyes,began carefully to part it...In another life this must have been a little daily act of no consequence before breakfast and school;now she did it like putting flowers on a tiny grave

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