Where will I go?” Nani whispered, her fingers pulling at the delicate folds of her sari. “This is my home and they’re tearing it down to build apartments.”
“Don’t worry Nani, we’ll find you a new home.” I hugged her tightly.
As we rode the bus home, I asked Appa why Nani couldn’t just move in with us.
“Oh, Nani would never do that,” he said. “She’s too independent. When I was growing up in Kampala, Nani always drove herself. She didn’t like using the driver. She’d hop on her scooter and putter to the market or her field hockey games,” Appa said.
I sat quietly listening.