YAN MADIGO

About this Novel

Hamma Badrah, her slender frame draped in disheveled hair without a band, pulled herself up from the bed in the worn-out room. Her eyes, still heavy with sleep, blinked at the persistent ringing of the telephone attached to the room's wall. Grrrrrrr ☎️ The phone demanded attention once more, disrupting her half-hearted attempts at greetings. Cuno Baki, barely able to open her eyes, cast a glance at the broken clock on the wall. With a melodious voice, she grumbled, "Daddy wants to kill me with fitina. Abegi, it's just 10 am; the breakfast can wait, but sleep? I can't skip it, or I'll end up with a headache..." Her complaints in a blend of English reminiscent of Black Americans were interrupted by a knock on the table signaling a visitor. In walked a beautiful woman in her forties, draped in a long black abaya. "Good morning, little angel," she greeted.