Chapter Eighteen

Staring blindly at the basket of fermented cassava she was sifting, hands moving on their own. She dipped repeatedly into the highly acidic liquid from the pot which the cassava had been fermented and poured the sieved cassava into an empty pot. The repetitive gesture was appeasing. Once that was done, she planned to wash the bitter leaves and prepare soup for the day's lunch. Then she would help her father cut heaps of grass for repairing the roof of their compound walls.

Farida was a complete ghost of her former self, from the very day she set foot in her father's compound, always silent, trying to be invisible. If she wasn't hiding in the hut she once shared with her now married cousin sister Rahma, she was losing herself in chores with no other reason than to rid herself of the torturous pain she caused herself. But only to retire to her sleeping fur and be haunted by the same heart aching pain she spent the entire day trying to escape from.