We need to start making movies about our history.
Notsie. Not a day goes by without my mother cursing this town and the man who rules it. Not a day goes by without her cursing our ancestors for settling here. She thinks I don’t notice the tears, the pain in her eyes, the suffering of our tribesmen. “You’re a little girl,” she’d say to me, “You don’t know a thing.”
But I do. I’m a grown little girl. I see the bleeding scars on my father’s feet because he tread on mud and straw mixed with broken glass to make bricks. You shall build this town with your blood, the man who rules this place had said. And that we did. I can’t count all the scars on my elder brother’s back from being whipped, or the number of times the evil guards have beaten my father because he’d always protect my older sister and I from being…
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