It was in the early hours of the morning that Bimbo gave birth to the child. The midwife, a woman with firm hands and deep eyes, only sighed as she dried the newborn with a worn cotton cloth.
“It’s a girl,” she said. “Very small, but alive.”
But Bimbo did not look. She barely looked at her.
In the corner of the room, a flickering lamp cast long shadows across the mud walls. The baby cried, but not loudly. Her cry was weak and thin, as if she already knew she was not welcome in this world.
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