Art Lab

Cultures are becoming torturing. Last night, the twenty sixth of January I had  robbed a sleep only to be awoken by a gun shot. My heart bumped thinking it was the normal stuff of Kakuma: looting. Minutes passed and I received a phone call to attest it was an attack in group nine in line with Fashoda Primary School opposite Rajaf Police Station. As I welcomed these gentlemen into the school, they told me that a day after, their colleaque eloped with a lady and when told to return her, they refused. They told me they spent the whole day in the lagga to make it to Nimule Primary School in the evening to hear what would happen. At Eleven O'clock at night, these people (lady's relatives) after warning severally broke into the group breaking the gate. Men who used to be in the group all escaped some through an opening under the fence. With this wrath if not scaring to get dowry, women who were found were beaten. One unlucky woman whom I learned came recently from Sudan got

 Jangageer was a land far and wide where a child was born. He received a warm welcome with termites oil at dusk. Dark signified the bearer of the shield who would be known to none other than the inhabitants of the land. The child grew up under nobility as their noble King waited for sacrificial instructions from gods. They were reluctant. His dwelling was sacred, the house of the mighty one of Chiek who was Chiek like gods of Jangageer. His parents visited him yet none dined with him. His words were respected the words of the mighty one. Once upon a time in his fifteenth age he sought permission from their noble King. ~ My noble King, he said. Knelt and skin covered his feet. Gods were silent respecting the words of the mighty one who prostrated respectfully. ~I need a walk eastwards, he asked, I see light every night so let me collect it for our good. It was puzzling to the King before he made up his mind to call Oleere and all the elders. When the King ordered guards ran and as s