No início da minha detenção, no entanto, o mais duro foi virem-me à cabeça pensamentos de homem livre. Por exemplo, sentia, de repente, o desejo de estar numa praia e de correr para o mar. Imaginando o barulho das primeiras ondas sob as plantas dos pés, a entrada do corpo na água, a libertação que era para mim o banho de mar, sentia, de repente, até que ponto as paredes da prisão me cercavam. Mas isto durou apenas alguns meses. Depois, passei a ter unicamente pensamentos de prisioneiro. Aguardava o passeio quotidiano no pátio ou então a visita do advogado.”
"(...) My daughter, she has no use for night runners. You know, her first language is not Luo. Not even Swahili. It is english. When I listen to her talk with her friends, it sounds like gibberish to me. They take bits and pieces of everything - English, Swahili, German, Luo. Sometimes, I get fed up with this. Learn to speak one language properly, I tell them." Rukia laughed to herself. "But I am beggining to resign myself - there's nothing really to do. They live in a mixed-up world. It's just as well, I suppose. In the end, I'm less interested in a daughter who's authentically African than one who is authentically herself." It was getting late; we thanked Rukia for her hospitality and went on our way. But her words would stay with me, bringing into focus my own lingering questions.
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