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Quote by Cole Gibsen

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Katana

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Cole Gibsen

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“Tabia yako ya siri mwanao atakuwa nayo! Kama Nelson Mandela alikuwa alama ya msamaha, msamaha ni tabia yetu. Kama Kwame Nkrumah alikuwa alama ya umoja, umoja ni tabia yetu. Kama Patrice Lumumba alikuwa alama ya uzalendo, uzalendo ni tabia yetu. Kama Robert Mugabe ni alama ya udikteta, udikteta ni tabia yetu. Kama Haile Selassie alikuwa alama ya ushujaa, ushujaa ni tabia yetu. Kama Samora Machel alikuwa alama ya ujamaa, ujamaa ni tabia yetu. Kama Julius Kambarage Nyerere alikuwa alama ya haki, haki ni tabia yetu. Sisi ni watoto wa wazalendo wa Afrika! Wao ni baba wa mataifa ya Afrika! Tumerithi tabia zao za siri.”

“Ninety-six per cent of juvenile prostitutes are fugitives from abusive domestic situations; 66 per cent began working before they turned 16. (Prostitution is their only perceived means of survival.) Millions of children work as prostitutes around the world. A third are male. One study revealed that over 50 per cent of prostitutes are the children of alcoholics or substance abusers, and 90 per cent are deflowered through incest or rape. Ninety-one per cent of prostitutes do not speak of the abuse. (The truth of life is told through the language of behavior.) Abused children suffer Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, guilt, self-destructive impulses, suspicion, fear. Seventy-five per cent of prostitutes attempt suicide. (Imagine their scrapbook of memories.)”

“In my head, owning a bookstore meant I could hide in the back reading all day, while other bookworms came and went without a sound, resembling almost a library or, better yet, a convent. People never talked to me or to each other, we were just a secret society of readers, alone but together in silent unity. In reality though, owning a bookstore meant that I never actually had time to read a book myself. And being a newer bookstore, meant that I was broke and couldn’t actually afford staff so I had to do most things myself. Alone. In front of people. With my face showing. And sometimes having to make eye contact. It was awful.”

“And that one guy, Martin that everyone liked, well he had a gash above his right eye and bruising near his jawline making him look even more corrupt. It took a moment for me to remember hearing he was a boxer. He caught me staring and stared back. No blinking. No movement. Just staring. Staring. I looked away blushing. From my periphery I could see him raise a hand to the cut above his eye then quickly shove his fists into the front pockets of his jeans. I turned my head to catch his eyes fall to the floor. It looked like he was focused on the leg of a barstool, but I think I saw a smile split his face.”