The TV didn’t spare my eyes.

It showed the worst; mouths dripping with unsolicited saliva, heads nodding to nothing in particular, and food sitting idly on sandy tables.

But still we journeyed on, to the origin of this mystery.


The road was unfriendly.

We hit a pothole, bounced on a mini-mound and held our breaths as we avoided a plunge down the valley.

But still we journeyed on.


We switched our eyes to the roadside.

The green grass swayed mildly under the morning wind. The dew dropped off stealthily from flapping leaves.

Then the birds sang – perhaps to the falling sun rays, the waking Okidi Village or the convening dark clouds in the distance.


Shaky sounds welcomed us.

I stood and looked at the eyes eying us. Some asked questions I had no answers to. Others demanded explanations. The rest just carried dim hope, resilience and others remained just pairs of empty eyes.


We said nothing. But they nodded.

My hands trembled. The camera shook. But I captured their sick nods until my own eyes gave way.

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