My name is Brian Namanya, and for a long time, my family was known for one thing, burials. Not because we were undertakers, but because, year after year, we were forced to bury people we loved. It was like death had rented a room in our homestead.
It started with my uncle, young, healthy, laughing one day, and the next, dead in his sleep. Then came my cousin, struck by a sudden stroke at only 31. We were still processing that loss when my younger sister, barely out of university, collapsed at work and never woke up. to read more click here
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