She pushed the door open. The smell of dust, dampness, and sickness hit her. The room was nearly empty. A worn mat lay on the floor. A plastic basin sat in the corner. A few old clothes were folded against the wall.
And on the mat, a thin woman turned her head.
Sakina’s breath stopped.
“Mama?”
Hadja Ramatou Diallo was almost unrecognizable.continue reading …
