The cry of the KWEREKWERE A hail of stones ran through Shoko’s Shack. His heart pounded so hard as he heard the thundering of the rocks every time they hit his corrugated iron shack. It was a chilly day but he found himself drenched in sweat, his mind was in turmoil. The only instinct he had was to save his life from the marauding monsters outside who were baying for his MaKwerekwere blood. “Come out you maggot!” “Cockroach!” “Scavenger” different voices called out from the mob gathered outside his one roomed shack. On top of the bed was a buttered and worn-out black suitcase with his meager belongings which he had hastily packed inside resting on a threadbare greasy quilt. The zipper had ceased to function. Shoko had wrapped a thick red string around it…

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