The journey back to Farato began with tears. By the time they reached the Serekunda garage, the afternoon had already begun to soften into evening. The heat that had pressed down upon the town for most of the day was losing its sharpness, and a faint breeze moved through the roadside trees. The lorries came and went in a noisy procession, each one announcing its destination through the conductor’s repeated cries. “Tabokoto! Lamin! Brikama!” Mato…
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