Half a Yam in a Storm
September 25th 2009 I wake up late, wondering how I managed to sleep through the pre-dawn whirlwind of getting the kids ready and off to school. My body is heavy with the dreams I’m still partly dreaming but I pull myself out of bed so that the house girl, Modda (“Mother” in a Ghanian accent), won’t think of me as the princess Becky insists that I be. As I eat the remaining half of a bread roll for breakfast,
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