We arrived at the compound at about fifteen minutes past six in the evening and found it almost exactly as I had left it five years earlier—the same day I fled through its gate and into the path of a moving vehicle.
Some places, it seemed, refused to acknowledge the passing of time.
Waiting at the entrance were Aunt Uka and Uncle Philip, standing hand in hand to welcome us. Both wore broad smiles that stretched from ear to ear, smiles filled with relief, gratitude, and perhaps a little disbelief that I had actually returned.
Aunt Uka had changed. She was still a beautiful woman, but the years had left their mark. She looked slimmer, almost shorter than I remembered, and there was a weariness about her face that no smile could completely conceal. She wore baggy denim shorts and a black round-neck polo shirt with the words JESUS IS LORD boldly printed across the front in white.
