Sometimes 52-year-old Hafiza Bano can be seen counting the wooden planks in the ceiling, or the lines on the doors, or the flowers imprinted on the rug.
Her house has three small rooms and a kitchen. In one of the mud-plastered rooms, a disabled relative lives; in another room, guests are greeted. The third is also occupied - by the memories of her dead daughter and "disappeared" son.
This is where Hafiza sleeps - a picture of her son, a jar full of the different medicines she must take and a broken radio tied with a piece of cloth beside her bed.
Almost every night, she dreams of buying her son clothes for Eid. Almost every morning, she wakes up crying. Full story...
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Her house has three small rooms and a kitchen. In one of the mud-plastered rooms, a disabled relative lives; in another room, guests are greeted. The third is also occupied - by the memories of her dead daughter and "disappeared" son.
This is where Hafiza sleeps - a picture of her son, a jar full of the different medicines she must take and a broken radio tied with a piece of cloth beside her bed.
Almost every night, she dreams of buying her son clothes for Eid. Almost every morning, she wakes up crying. Full story...
Related posts:
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