I write stories inspired by my experiences and fiction.
Months before mother, Sisi, Luna and I had begun a journey. We had narrowly escaped fathers rath back in Agaro. Fatigue had begun to creep in, but I would argue it had always been present. The life we had left behind could scarcely be called a life. It was survival. It would take us all a while to recover good thing Addis Ababa seemed to be the same distance as the heavens. Time, time is all we had as we squeezed in mother's 1970 navy-blue Volkswagen bus. We hoped this new life in Addis Ababa would be kinder.