Maralal, don’t say you were not told!

I peep from the rough tank in Ng'ari, overlooking the dust-choking town of Maralal, enjoying the aroma of lost coins... the aroma of laxating khat from the wet side of Lowua Keri. I widen my nostrils to clear my gut of another morsel of lies and feigned loyalty. I light my pipe and shove some ash... a piece to my ancestors... and make a dash to dodge the fiery rage from the men that ate.

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