Uhuru Street
“The day is hot but clear and a soft breeze blows bits of paper about. The street gradually empties of people and business comes to a halt. The last strains of Akashwani on the airwaves from India mingle with the smell of hot ghee, fried onions, and saffron that wafts down from people’s homes. Hussein, my father-in-law, sits on the bench and stares out through the doorway, as intently as though watching some action on the pavement. In his hands are the two halves of a ball, a soft bouncy red bal...l, the kind kids call flesh-ball, and he squeezes the two parts together.
A short while ago the ball fell from a roof three floors up, bounced a few times on the street and pavement and landed inside the store. Hussein was upon it even before I realised it was there. Minutes later some boys came in, with a side of wood, their bat.
‘Uncle, did you see a ball fall here somewhere?’ they asked.
‘Pigs!’ yelled Hussein, jumping up from his seat in rage. ‘Do you want to hurt people? How many times do you have to be told …?’ ‘We won’t do it again, uncle,’ pleaded a boy.MoreLess
A short while ago the ball fell from a roof three floors up, bounced a few times on the street and pavement and landed inside the store. Hussein was upon it even before I realised it was there. Minutes later some boys came in, with a side of wood, their bat.
‘Uncle, did you see a ball fall here somewhere?’ they asked.
‘Pigs!’ yelled Hussein, jumping up from his seat in rage. ‘Do you want to hurt people? How many times do you have to be told …?’ ‘We won’t do it again, uncle,’ pleaded a boy.MoreLess
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