When the book describes long elephant grass, something along the lines of this long leaf came to my mind. The LRA rose and departed from camp early, which is where the dew comes in. When I read chapter 9, I can almost feel sharp, dewy blades of grass scratching legs and vapour rising in the heat of the sun eventually leaving a dry, cracked ground and thirsty mouths.

           Grief has come over me in every sensation. The thud of my father’s frail frame in the grave, no priest to bless him; this sent me cowering behind my hut, crying my apologies. I do not know much about big god, but did he need the priest’s blessing to get into heaven? The thought of him hearing my voice through flames and pitchforks sent even more tears to my eyes. Although perhaps the worst place he could be would be nowhere at all, the sound of my voice inaudible. This was the worst death. Since then, death has almost become normal. My siblings, my mother, and finally Adaa. Where do I go now?