I can still clearly recall the day my mother passed away. I was only six years old, and the night was chilly. Kabiru, my brother, was crying in the room next to mine when I woke up. Despite the fact that I had no idea what was going on, I felt something wasn’t right.
My mother was on the floor when I went to see what was going on. She appeared lifeless and pallid. I can still picture how uncertain and afraid I was. I couldn’t make sense of what was happening.
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