The River and the Source

by Margaret A. Ogola

adage that the sun should never rise and find a man

hapless

low moan from the direction of the main hut was heard, the first sound in three days from that poor suffering woman. Her voice rose as she keened in a high tone, a lonely, lost sound; terrible to hear. It was almost as if the boy was dead, not just lost. The fearful premonition of doom that only a mother, closely connected as she is to the child, can sense, was in the air.

“I keep my ears open, my friend, I am not like you who sleeps on both your ears.

What’s the use of talking to a man whose sole occupation was to sleep on both ears?

for how can we appreciate light unless we understand darkness?