The morning light spilled softly across the walls of my apartment in Buruburu Phase 1, touching everything in gentle gold. The apartment smells faintly of soap and warmth, the scent of fresh laundry mingling with the aroma of maize and millet porridge simmering in the kitchen. I lean against the counter, one hand resting on my healing belly that's almost flat now, feeling the place where Mama Rehema tied me with a corset. The movement was a reminder of life, of hope, of the choices I had made ...