Nova

They still call me Pendo Odhiambo here. Seven months in Nairobi, and the name fits so naturally now that sometimes I forget it’s borrowed, like a coat I slipped into and somehow it molded to my shape. Pendo. Love.

Maybe it’s God’s idea of a joke, considering how little of that I’ve had in my life since mama passed away.

But the babies inside me, my tiny, wriggling trio, remind me that love can grow even in exile.

Today, the air smells of fresh paint, dust, and ...