What I had wanted most in the world was for mother to get well. But mother had died. Now what i wanted most in the was to learn to read the story book she had made me promise to read. It was my prize possession. It went with me everywhere. When it began to look tatty, I covered it with a strip of nylon that had been used to wrap somebody's loaf of bread. No one in the boys home could teach me to read.
I imagined that some of the older boys in the almajirici next door might. After all, they were supposed to be students of the koran. Would students not know how to read? I had heard though that some almajiricis were homes for almajiris who were not students but child beggars and labourers. Surely mine would not be so? I had looked forward to being an almajiri.