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School Punishments That Went Way Too Far
Kofi looked at Yaw, almost pityingly. Their father, a fisherman, was drowned in the river the day after Dzifa was born. The outburst made you start, spilling tea on your T-shirt. Up the staircase to the study, skipping every other stair. Cyber-pornography is easily one of our biggest problems. Reached for a slice of your pawpaw and sighed. Uncle, unconvinced, worshipped and adored his little sister and the two were inseparable growing up. You glanced down the hall to the study; the door was open. The sheen of her eyes like a lacquer, sealing grief. An alto saxophonist in an Afro-funk band, he left when he learned she was pregnant. She was tested at a hospital in Ghor and doctors found no evidence of sexual intercourse. She is beautiful when she smiles. The outermost boundaries of a body, the endpoints, where the land of warm skin meets the sea of cold air. Like a fetish offering. In a month, about four to five times, we met with foreign customers in a hotel, plus daily online. Still now there is something about those nights that you miss; maybe the promise of your mother in the morning?
A large painted banner on the back of their truck read Mary Christmas! Even with such freedom, somehow patriarchy still filled the air. Too bright to be real. And you want to believe it. His female relatives did not agree. In a month, about four to five times, we met with foreign customers in a hotel, plus daily online. You wonder if they find themselves beautiful, or powerful? Francis will let you watch from the little wooden table while he skins and chops chicken in the afternoon light. As a therapist I have found that due to these pressures, many young Muslim women have turned to alcohol and drugs to cope with the pain of not being able to express themselves. I love sex and I always have. But they must not have heard you. Iago disappeared down this path. Some of these women were hospitalised for mental breakdowns; some tried to commit suicide. It scares you for some reason. At this moment, here beside you, your mother is unquestionable. As skinny as ever. She is pretty to you, Ruby, though her appearance is jarring, the eyes of a griot in the face of a girl. You had better be decent. No one has heard from her since. You glanced at her quickly, holding her bag in your lap, trying to interpret her vacant expression. Like a fetish offering. First, Ruby never smiles and Iago never stops: These foreign perpetrators, they have contacts here in the Philippines, wherein these contacts are looking for children. Too beautiful to be fake. You who ate leftovers at the bar with the busboys at the end of each night while your mother drank rum; who helped maids on the mornings your mother was hung-over; eating left-behind chocolates and half-rotting fruit. Meanwhile, a stranger with a camera is trying to take a picture.
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