At ten years old, he’s become the sole bread winner of their three person family.
Every day he walks around eight huts that make up their village.
He stands at the door for seconds before he enters each one.
It’s become a ritual, as though he expects someone to invite him in. But nobody’s there.
He sits in the dirt at the centre fireplace outside where the adults sat and talked.
He’s making up his mind whether to take his sisters with him or not.
Walking miles to the town takes more time with his sisters in tow.
His baby sister is not yet one.
They are safer where he can keep an eye on them.
He is small but he can kick and bite. He’s done it before.
They don’t know what happened to their parents or everyone else in the village.
They came back from the river one day and everybody was gone.
‘I must look after my sisters.
I search the rubbish.
I find something to sell.
I buy food.
We eat. We live.
This is what I do.
I don’t know who I am.’
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