The beginning

Ayala quietly shut the door to her mother’s room and slid down the hallway to the kitchen. She put the copper kettle on and boiled water. She carefully poured the hot water into her mother’s coffee pot and let it seep through the dark coffee grounds. She let the aroma wash over her, and for a moment, all felt as usual with her world. When she opened her eyes and looked out the kitchen window, she could swear she heard her brother’s decrepit motorcycle purr outside their small house. She pushed back a new flood of tears, arranged the tray with several steaming cups of coffee and brought it out to her father on the patio.

The palm trees stood tall in the still morning hours, the sun already heating up the concrete patio floor. Her father was surrounded by a group of men, some of whom she knew to be important members of the village council. She placed the metal tray in front of her father and closed the door behind her as she went back into the coolness of the house. Her father and his friends had been out on the patio all morning, the temperatures rising now as the noon hour closed in. Soon they would come in for shelter from the heat. She knew she was not welcome in their discussion, nor did she have anything to contribute. She went into her mother’s dark room and lay next to her as she slept, the first few moments of peace since the knock on the door last night.