My older brother, Nodin, remembers more than I do. But I have something he doesn’t. I have the dream. A snippet of life before our adoption; a single event played over and over while I sleep. Hundreds of times, I’ve woken up with a scream in my throat and a name on my lips. The dream is always the same. Pounding drums. A tribe surrounding a fire. A night that starts as a celebration but ends in panic and chaos.
-Beth Teliho
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