Her hair was in cornrows, the way my mother had done mine severally; but her skin, it was so dark and shiny, not like the normal African skin or the colour of her people, Her skin was dark the colour of hate and destruction, it was dark...like fire had burned it. She lay face down turned away from the sky she will never see again and the little black child next to her lay there armless and burnt as well...yes this is my country 2015. my people. burned like swine, women raped like slaves and the children many died and melted onto the mothers they were latching onto when the bomb went off. Mother dear, you will not die. I have never seen disaster, but that wouldn't stop the tears from flowing, because every time I see another photo, not in the main media but the little blogs that cared to post...I don't think of it as another dead body, no that's what people who cant imagine do. i think of all their possible names; Aisha? Zainab? Fatima? These are popular names amongst ...