Of Ashes and Rivers that Run to the Sea by Marie Munkara

had two big mouthfuls bitten out of it and been dumped straight onto the benchtop without going back into its wrapper. There is a large cockroach sitting smugly on the corner of it washing its antennae while a trail of ants march over it on their way from a bag of sugar to their nest.
    My bloodcurdling screams bring everyone running and they crowd through the kitchen doorway, their facesregistering alarm as they look around to see the source of my horror.
    â€˜ Kamini ,’ says mummy, her eyes darting wildly around the kitchen. ‘ Kamini mwaringa ?’ (‘What, daughter?’)
    â€˜ Kamini ?’ I screech as all eyes immediately stop looking around and focus on me. ‘This is fucking kamini !’ I yell as I point to the carnage. ‘Where are my fucking cups? Who dumped my fucking teabags on the floor?’
    I am shaking with rage. ‘And who did this?’ I grab my broken knife and wave it in the air for all to see while they take a step backwards, their eyes focused on the knife. At that moment I hear JJ’s voice outside. I look out the window. He is playing in the sand under the tree and is using my frying-pan lid as a shovel. One of my tablecloths is tied around his skinny little black shoulders as a cape while Panacua the king of the camp dogs lies in peaceful repose on another. JJ is busily shovelling the sand into mounds, the very same sand that the germ-ridden hairless dogs roll in to scratch their itchy skin and the local cats use as a toilet. I go back to my room and cry.
    A bit later on when I venture into the kitchen I notice two of the cups have been returned, but everything else is still missing. So I take a deep breath and clean up again and take the remnants of my kitchen paraphernalia back to my room. My big bowl that I brought along to wash my feet in before I go to bed will now double up as my washing-up sink as well. The tablecloth that Panacua slept on has beenleft for him while the one that JJ appropriated along with the frying-pan lid has been boiled and thoroughly scrubbed and made ready for my use. If I were back home down south I would have thrown everything away and started again but necessity has forced me to be thriftier and more careful in my ways. Everyone tiptoes around me now they know I’m in a bad mood and I’m fine with that, maybe they’ll learn not to touch things that they shouldn’t.
    The first night cooking in my room works well and I make myself some baked beans on toast. With no fridge to keep things cold the butter is liquid but I pour it over my toast and eat my meal with great relish. But when I go to the kitchen sink to fill my bowl for washing up there is what looks like a haunch of beef laid across the sink and the bit where the dishes drain. I had nothing to do with the kitchen when I was growing up and have never touched a piece of raw meat in my life so I find the sight of it confronting, but I know I have to get used to it here because meat and fish is mostly what people eat. They don’t bother with vegetables and gravy and stuff like that, just bread and meat. The raw meat smell makes me gag and I head for the laundry sink to get my water instead. But the laundry sink is full of Gemma and Louis’ clothes that smell like they have been sitting there for the past week. There is a scum on the surface of the water and a few dead insects floating in it as well. I head for the tap outside and see JJ standing nearby.
    â€˜ Taringa there,’ he says pointing to the grass near the tap. But I am in no mood for jokes and march up to the tap and fill my bowl with water. Bowl filled I turn to go back inside when I see movement in the grass. JJ was right, it’s a fucking snake. I nearly drop my bowl but I am determined to get this washing-up done so I cling onto it and slowly back away from the tap. Suddenly I feel something against my leg. I immediately drop the bowl and spin around only to see JJ running off