Did I ever tell you the story of the oil, Majuto?
I don’t think so. I was too young to know about sex. Too young to know about right and wrong. Now, though, I am able to reflect. I can even write about it in a letter to you, my brother. Mama never meant to hurt me. Just like she never meant to hurt you when she called you Majuto, regret. It was all a way of life for her, and she knew no different.