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  After spending the day with his parents, all 3 of them loaded up Mfanyakazi's old ford Mondeo and set off to make their way to the A34 going North.  About 30 minutes later, they had parked up outside the street on which the hostel was located.  They had made it on time, but not with much to spare.  They alighted from the car and Kazaliwa had to make several journeys getting his belongings to the hostel, which was situated about 6 - 10 metres from the road.  As they hugs prior to the last trip, there was an atmosphere, a sense of  sadness on a bed of relief, of subdued happiness.  Nzuri and Mfanyakazi had their second son back; even though it was conditionally so.  As they retraced their way back to their home on this fateful night.   They would not have to continue to be tormented with the sad and poignant thoughts of Kazaliwa being incarcerated.  To be continued!

  Will she desist from occasionally moving in front of her WF and, with one hand behind her, drag it from behind her and position it in front of her? These are questions about my dear mother that consistently flash up onto my retina, as I visually observes her and listens to the things she says and infers. But there are also others. Such as, will there not come a time when my dear mother becomes immobile to the point where she is no longer able use her walking frame to move about her small palace?  When she no longer has the strength to heave herself up from a sitting position, as she tries to steady herself with the frame and move lift up and move one foot, and then the other?  As I look at her now, not so much elegantly and adeptly lifting up her feet and walking, but rather shuffling her foot along.  As it, like a truculent child or an unwilling domestic animal digging its heal in and declaring its refusal to walk willing with its owner.  And yet, despite this obvious difficulty, my