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Weekly Contest #78
In the neighbourhood, she was our heroine and was pretty much contemporary than her contemporaries. As kids, we would gather around her, sometimes, danced to the rhythm that emanated from her finger-work on the keyboard. How long we enjoyed what was music to us depended on the mood Osamulu's mum was. On a bad day, the fiery look on her face put us away; we needed no prophet to tell us we were unwanted guests. Every African child could discern that. It was part of a homely requisite training where non-verbal communication like facial expressi...
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