ABSTRACT
Holding her baby in one hand, she motioned then towards the interior of
the cockeyed slant of wood, corrugated tin and heavy plastic sheeting that was
her home, the only light streaming in through the open door. I made a mental
list of everything I saw: two matching armchairs with clear plastic covers; an alu-
minum pot (dimpled, empty); a kerosene burner; a makeshift cabinet; some
tatters of clothing in a slumping box; a portrait of Jesus; two single beds. Save
young Nomsa and the baby, there was nothing else to include on the list.
