E Mberego -

The old man sat on the crumbling wall, watching the sun drip gold into the sea. His granddaughter knelt beside him, tracing patterns in the sand.

“What was her name?” she asked.

And so he told her of a woman with salt in her hair and laughter like wind chimes. Of a dance under a tin roof during rain. Of a letter never sent, folded into a locket. e mberego