From Sorry, by Stephanie Sauvé, published by Life Rattle Press, 2005
Ng'andu directed the taxi driver in Nianja, one of the many local languages, until we stopped. I followed Sarah and Joe out of the back seat. The taxi waited as Ng'andu led us down a short path to a one-room, cement-walled house with no windows.
Sarah nudged me ahead. I stood in the doorway, a doorway with no door. I could feel the soles of my sandals rocking over a mud ledge, my heels touching back against the dirt outside then my toes leaning down against the mud-floor inside. My light floral skirt rustled in the wind and licked around the front of the house. Five women sat opposite, on the floor with their backs against the wall. The shadowed interior masked their faces. The sun from the doorway lit their colourful Chitenge skirts and dry legs stretching out towards me. In the far corner I saw a coffin of weatherworn wood. I nodded, lowered my head and left.