Mary’s ON THE DRIVE to Aboke, Grace reported the rebels had attacked a grocery nearby in Atipe and there were three abductions. How do you get this news with no phone lines? Don said, hungover, with pink eyes. Grace shrugged. One hears it. A dented van packed with bodies careened past them, its back doors swinging open, and people hanging off. This past Christmas, Grace said, here on the Lira-Gulu Road, a woman was shot riding one of those matatus. She was on the luggage rack and just flew up and was dead before she hit the ground. You can tell a dead body even flying through the air. Pierre, sitting next to her, gazed at her with admiration. Her face was calm, curls blowing around. They drove in the hot morning. The road narrowed to dirt and Grace directed them over a rickety bridge of bleached boards warped with gaps. They proceeded slowly, fearing collapse. Children wading nearby in the rushes spotted them and came splashing over. Their hands reached up to the windows. Behave, Grace said.
