My father has brought home a second wife from the city. There she is, perched delicately on the passenger side of the company car.
A bag of bones. That is the phrase that comes to my mind when I see her. She looks pale and hungry. So there they are, an unlikely trio, sitting in the Toyota Hilux, seemingly unable to muster the strength to disembark. My father has brought home a skinny wife and a fat, yellow child.
I stand in the shade of the verandah and contemplate the scene for a moment. I can understand my father’s hesitation. I had nothing to do with it, yet I can already feel my palms getting sticky with sweat and my heart rate accelerate. This is bad. This is really bad.
The apocalypse is coming. The chickens have already taken cover inside the Kai apple fence. Our dog Pixie is just lying under the tree, wagging his tail lazily. Then again, Pixie is used to getting kicked. Mama’s humming voice fills the air as she approaches from the cow pen. It’s about to rain drama. I give my father a quick wave and run behind the house.