I Don 't Know About What Was Coming

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On a sunny morning in mid-August, little had Hamisi Adhra known about what was coming. As he trudged along the brick steps leading to his cottage on the outskirts of a village in Tanzania, he noticed a brown parcel lying just outside the teak front door. Hamisi picked it up and ran his hands over what seemed like a stack of papers inside. Just then, the front door opened and his mother stepped out. “Breakfast is ready, son, oh what is this?” she asked as her eyes glinted with curiosity on the parcel. “I don’t know, ma. It was lying right here,” he pointed to their doorstep as he entered the small house which smelled like omelet and black tea whistling on the stove. His mother, a woman in her forties with thin wrinkled brows and hair with streaks of grey in it could not stop wondering about what was in the parcel. She sat down on the roughly carpeted floor across her son and said with a smile, “Maybe your Uncle Raja has sent a monetary amount from Delhi. He knows how badly we need it.” Hamisi looked at his mother and nodded as he sipped some tea. The woman continued to praise old Uncle Raja from whom they heard seldom. A few minutes later, he reached for the parcel and began to unwrap it. After what seemed like ten more minutes, the parcel had finally been gotten rid of the thick, brown paper followed by a bundle of envelopes falling in Hamisi lap. As he picked them one by one, his eyes gaped in amazement and his smile widened in the most unusual way. “Ma, I am very

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