If ever there was a man, a man made when the skies were full of light, and the seas were calm…if ever there was a man without a nose, then it would be Jabali.

My eyes are closing but my heart refuses to be calm even as I tell you about him.

When I saw him as a child, there was something in eyes, a certain kind of evil that struck me as odd in a child. His mother had just laboured in vain to bring into the world the tenth son. Her husband was seated on the mat in the corner looking at the tiny creature wriggling in his wife’s arms, wondering when he will ever plant a feminine seed that would grow into his old age.

It is true that a man can walk for miles but never get to his final destination.

Jabali’s father might have seen it that day. His mother, well, let us not talk to a goat while she is eating.

I will tell you about Jabali but not now because to speak of him requires a certain calmness that my soul has never had since the day Neema introduced him to me.

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