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Everyone looked as if the sun was his or her enemy.
My father didn’t believe in war. He said war was evil, but if it came he would revel in it like sand in a storm.
I’m not proud to say that I have some Desert People blood in me from my father’s side of the family, that’s where my dark skin and extra-bushy hair come from.
Government security guards were only educated up to age ten, yet because of their jobs, they were used to ordering people around.
However, just because something isn’t surprising doesn’t mean it’s easy to deal with.
The people on the ship weren’t Himba, but I soon understood that they were still my people.
They were all girls who grew up in sprawling houses, who’d never walked through the desert, who’d never stepped on a snake in the dry grass. They were girls who could not stand the rays of Earth’s sun unless it was shining through a tinted window.
They say that when faced with a fight you cannot win, you can never predict what you will do next.
The weight of my hair on my shoulders was assuring, my hair was heavy with otjize, and this was good luck and the strength of my people, even if my people were far far away.
His anger was rightful, but all that he said was from what he didn’t truly know.
If there was one thing my father and I disagreed on, it was that; I believed I could only be great if I were curious enough to seek greatness.
The Meduse are not what we humans think. They are truth. They are clarity. They are decisive. There are sharp lines and edges. They understand honor and dishonor. I had to earn their honor and the only way to do that was by dying a second time.
“Tribal”: that’s what they called humans from ethnic groups too remote and “uncivilized” to regularly send students to attend Oomza
“All people fear decisive, proud honor,”
