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Zoe my Son… A short story
The year had come to an end. The rains were not coming. People walked cursing the sun-scotched ground. The air was hot, feeling my nostrils with a burning sensation.

The elders cursed the gods for the bareness of the soil while sacrificing endlessly the few remaining goats to appease the ancestors.

A sudden kick inside my belly reminded me that I was carrying a child. I listened in silence as he played with gusto not worried about his future or my hunger.

I know it’s a boy, my mother had told me that a boy kicks from sideways. I could only agree then, but now I believe. A song escaped from my tightened lips “come Zoe my child, come Zoe my son”

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