I lay lazily on the wooden bed dreading dawn. Mama would come knocking at the door with the bag filled with her farm tools slumped across her shoulder.
It had rained the previous night.
Chizo snored softly beside me. She was mama’s last child and she wouldn’t do anything.
“She’s still tender,” mama would defend her each time. Sometimes I wished she had Chizo first.
Her footsteps in the courtyard was close now.
“Chika!!” she shouted from afar.
“We have to work hard Chika, so we can pay your fees,” she’d told me the last time. I sighed, getting up.

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