They say the ground in Badda still remembers— a scorch mark near the bend where a boy’s breath caught mid-chant,

I didn’t hold a placard. I wasn’t in the crowd. But I heard the screams — sharp as truth, the

The wind at dawn was about to thatch the roof. Bodies covered in blood, groaning. For a moment, I stopped

Blocked roads, chants on the streets This time, dictator, she could not defeat After years of struggle to find our