RIVER CHILD.

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The thatched mud hut was dimly lit by a rusty old kerosene lamp. A woven mat, spread out on the bare cemented floor held a relieved Dooshima. The agony she felt moments ago now seemed like a distant memory as she eagerly waited to be handed back her baby.

“This baby is not normal” mama Mbapun observed, as she cleaned the newborn’s skin.

Dooshima strained her ears…

“It is true” the second midwife agreed, confirming the young mother’s fears, “She does not look right.”

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