She’d been in the toilet for three hours now. Three hours of horrifying, gut-wrenching, noises that came from the back of the house where Saika had disappeared since they got home. Georgy, thinking she’d gone to throw up, had gathered her things and gone in after her to help. But after hearing the door to the bathroom slam shut and the sound of the tap coming on under an empty bucket, she paused mid-step. Oh no. Oh, God.
Continued from Sometimes it Is what you don’t have.
The car wended its way through the sand streaked tarmac road, Georgina let down the window. The humid wind felt good on her face. Mwanza was not as hot as the coast of Tanzania but being at the lakeside, it was not cool either. They were on their way to a traditional doctor, known for a detoxifying herb that cleaned out the colon. But Georgina and her sister, Saika, didn’t know that. Having visited these kinds of doctors from one end of the country to the other, they hadn’t bothered to find out specifics. They were all the same now.
A lot of things are opinion. Subjective. There was a big ol’ line between facts and feelings. And it was as clear as the neo-colonialism bondage into which Africa is entering with China, where one stopped and the other started. That line’s gotten so blurred and grey, people don’t really differentiate anymore. I like to keep it real. Grey areas offend me. The fact is that feelings and opinions are like souls, everyone has them. But that doesn’t imply value. Or even validity. Mine might even count for less. But since this is the internet, and everyone has a free pass to spout out all the shit they can express in ones and zeros, here’s my load.