![]() ![]() Musa strained to hear the man at the podium. He had only just learnt a new one “Fawer”, the response to the call from the podium. He knew from one to one thousand and simply attached the word neirah to it. To buy and sell, he needed to know the numbers. The only words of English he was familiar with were the monetary denominations. An imprint of his palm, with five short fingers appeared on his kaftan. Not sure of what to do with the stream of sweat he collected this time, he rubbed it on his kaftan. It was all he had on him when he was invited to join the bus. He had no singlet on, so the kaftan held to his skin. “FiiiDiii Fiii !!!” Musa didn’t open his mouth at all this time. It felt like standing on red hot charcoal. ![]() Musa felt the heat from the tarmac burn through the thin layer of his old bathroom slippers. His heel was in direct contact with the tarmac. The party leaders in the podium had a roof over them. Musa used his palm to wipe away the sweat from his face. ![]() Its rays struck the heads of the people in the crowd and the tarmac beneath their feet. He had been shouting the same response all day. “FiiDii Fiii !!!” Musa opened his mouth and closed it. “Fiii Diii Fiii !!!” The loudspeaker boomed.
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