MaZembe stood in the middle of the lounge, looking around as she were the only survivor of a shipwreck. Her attentiveness directed him to examine his home. He noticed the bleak wallpaper, which was peeling off in parts and the curtains that suddenly seemed drabber than usual, which folded to expose the lace lining flecked with the remains of gnats and flies. The vinyl covering was scuffed and cracked in the section nearest the door and tables and chairs were bruised by constantly bumping into the unyielding walls, perhaps in the process of moving. A flowerless vase rested on the crocheted table covering, the only ornament that spoke of the creative generosity of a human hand. Abioseh was suddenly very thirsty. 'Something to drink, Ma?'