You know that’s how he is, Yaya always said with a shrug whenever I went to her to complain about my father’s uncontrollable anger; you know he’s not good at being happy. But why? I would ask. Because he was born that way, Bongo—that’s why. But how come everyone else in the village smiles and he’s the only person who never smiles? Because he’s the way he is; why should he pretend he’s like everyone else?
