THE BOAT LEFT IN SILENCE - AND SO DID OUR HOPE
He didn’t leave the house like a traveler. He left like someone escaping his own life. It was still dark when he stood at the doorway, barefoot on cold cement, holding his breath so the hinge wouldn’t squeak. In his pocket was a phone with a cracked screen. Under his shirt was a small plastic bag; two sets of clothes, a toothbrush, a folded note with a few numbers written on it, and money that didn’t belong to him, collected from friends who were also drowning, just on land. His heart was beating so loudly he feared it would wake the whole house. In the next room, his mother slept lightly. Not because she was at peace, but because poverty trains mothers to sleep with one ear open. He watched her chest rise and fall and felt something split inside him. He wanted to kneel beside her, kiss her forehead, and say the truth: “Mama, I’m going. I can’t breathe here anymore.” But he didn’t. Because he had tried telling the truth before; about the job applications that never got replies, about ...