A Sick Story of Shame

Because shame is within



A wave of urbanization had hit the area and had left it unrecognizable so that when I returned, four years after my last visit, I didn’t recognize anywhere anymore. The roads that led to the house had been laid with asphalt; new buildings – multiple floors with red zinc roofs – had replaced the old bungalow structures that once lined the road. These new houses had ornamental security lamps installed on their fences and a few had barb wires that crawled on their fences.


The rains began to sprinkle just as the cab pulled up in front of the house I had pointed out as my destination. The house used to be a bungalow with a rusty red gate but I was standing in front of a bungalow with a huge black gate and a fence with a mural of the Risen Christ mounted on it. The only way…

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