Lira We got to her hut, a crooked lonely thing sitting on a patch of parched land. The roof sagged beneath the weight of thatch and dust, and the walls were made of baked mud. A single clay pot rested by the doorway, filled with rainwater that had gone green from neglect. There was no sign of life around, no children, no chickens, not even the distant hum of people. Just silence, as if the earth itself had forgotten her.I glanced at her and wondered how long she’d lived this far from everything, whether solitude had driven her half mad. The hut smelled faintly of herbs.She shuffled inside, motioning for me to follow. A few clay jars lined one corner, a crude table, and a small wooden stool that looked like it had seen generations. She brought out a raffia mat, shook off a thin film of dust, and spread it neatly on the floor.I sat, murmuring my thanks, watching her move about like someone whose life ran on routine.“Feel at home,” she added, though the irony of that line nearly mad
Last Updated : 2025-10-20 Read more