Questions and Answers

\en I visit my sister at Epuni, she says to me: en’t you working, Sano?’—what she means is, I’t I have a regularly paid job like the others, now my sister is worried about my future. ), I’m not’, I tell her. sister is curious and wants to know what m doing. ‘l’m working at home’, I say. sister knows what I do at home but she is rried about my future.

' sister is silent and serves me food ight with her husband’s money. at it because I am hungry. ive you sold anything yet?’—my poor sister. >, not yet’.—food tastes no different whether i bought it or someone else did. Tastes good, hen' do you think . . .’—oh sister, poor sister, don’t know. Maybe never’, I munch it out.

' sister looks at me and she is sad. im still eating because I am hungry. ’ sister says nothing more about my work ause she is worried about my future.

Oh my sister, daughter of my mother, is in love with me because I am simple and young and I see so much and I will never be old enough to be her man.

My sister is jealous of my pain—she wont hide, she won’t pretend . . . my mother’s daughter.

I always thought brothers and sisters carried each other’s pain like a birth mark.

But here is my sister who looks and looks at me as though searching for a definition with eyes of shiny pebbles.

Oh dear sister, what do you know of a vibrating desire? What is a heart if it doesn’t pursue?

It miqht as well be plucked out and let’s end it.

What if I told you that a stream searches for the sea among valleys and hills and never tires.

But my sister is quiet, she wont listen, she won’t hear.

She goes on looking at the way I eat, estimating my limits, the distance . . . because she is worried about my future.