Feeding time starts at 5pm. Or should I say, the porridge better be ready by then, or else 44 crying babies will create mayhem, though they likely will anyway.
This is not my first time in this Tanzanian orphanage, up the dusty brick steps or through the latchless door. And it is not the first time this place has made me contemplate motherhood and opportunity and injustice. But it is supper, and there is no time to consider these things now.
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