The Grief of Strangers

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Chinechelum said little as her mother drove her to the airport. She looked out of the window, at the trees whose leaves had turned the colour of a ripe banana, or a berry-red, and others that had shed all their leaves and stood with their naked branches sticking up. It was one of the things she like…


The Merry Widow
Never Neverland