working with his father; he was a good teacher. He always took time to explain every intricacy of whatever they were exploring. His father was someone he very much wanted to be like.
Jayvyn’s whole family, as well as most others in his village, was engaged in growing rice. The men usually tended to the preparation of the ground and the creation of new paddies, while the women took care of planting, harvesting, and processing the grain. All chipped in with the necessary weeding and other duties during the growing season.[1] In his village, a man’s wealth was determined by his harvest, and Jayvyn was proud his father had always enjoyed good standing.
Quickening his pace, Jayvyn rounded the familiar bend signaling he’d soon be nearing his village. The sun had come up above the horizon now. Fresh dew sparkled the low-lying vegetation, refracting the sun’s rays in quick flashes of colored light, like so many jewels scattered across the crisp, clean forest floor.
As he neared, Jayvyn heard what, at first, he took to be the sound of waking chatter and bustle from his village. But as he drew closer, something didn’t feel right; things didn’t sound normal. He heard yelling, screaming, and unusual voices. Heavy objects cracked and thumped; men of his village shouted urgently; women and children screamed. An explosion ripped the air. He smelled smoke—not the sort that came from the morning fires, but different—acrid and much thicker.
Slowing his pace, his peaceful feeling quickly became replaced with mounting fear and anxiety. Something is terribly wrong! Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he crept slowly along the remaining section of
[1] Rice cultivation is traditionally separated into gender roles in many parts of West Africa
Peter D Brown, Author 