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You Over there in the mirror, come here.

Mingling with the morning breeze, is the smell of sweet victory, driving away all defeat and despair in my weary soul.

The rotting dhania, coriander, sat gloomily on top of the small fridge. It had been a sweet green color just days back in Mombasa when we bought it at Nakumatt. But that was then. Now, thanks to a dead fridge when I arrived back in Lamu from Mombasa, it was way past its prime and I reluctantly tossed it into the improvised polythene waste bin that was next to the sink.

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