It was over the holidays and I had gone to visit Granny. Her house always felt like home, the lovely aroma of her cooking and the warmth of the house. Kids always played on the street. It was the perfect escape from the city life I lived.

I was at my friend’s house, who lived in a yellow four-room house. The house had a back room made from collected scrap metal sheets. We loved playing around it, was always hot in the summer and cold in the winter days.

We would pretend to play house. The backroom would become somewhat a divider. The one side of it would be our kitchen, the other a bedroom and so on. We’d divide ourselves into a family and one would be the mother, a father and the children. All the big boned kids would get chosen as the mother.

That day was very exciting for us. I had gone into my grandmother’s kitchen and collected some of the food items in her fridge to use as food in our game. I remember running in excitement to my friends, while drinking left over oros juice from the coke bottle. “I have food. Lets play house,” I said in excitement.

My friends rushed to me and said, “Hhaybo! Will you not get into trouble for taking Gogo’s food?” I smiled and told them not to worry.

As we played, one of the rusted metal sheets was falling off. Oblivious we played regardless. A few moments later as I ran, I felt a scratch on my knee. I paid no attention to it.

“You’re bleeding!” one of my friends exclaimed. I looked down and saw blood rushing down my knee.

My left leg covered in blood, I walked home and showed my granny my cut. She asked what happened and caressingly nursed my cut.

Years later, I still have the scar on my knee cap. My granny always teases me about it and says it is what happens to people who steal food.