Yakabatanidzwa ruzha

You don’t remember the last thing you said to your mother before you left for medical school. You’ve tried. You’ve replayed that morning a hundred times—sitting on the edge of your bed, suitcase half-zipped, the smell of rice and stew drifting in from the kitchen. You were seventeen. She didn’t cry. She adjusted your collar and told you to “take care of people.” You told yourself that meant she trusted you. You’ve been telling yourself that ever since. That was eight years ago. A lot has happene