“Chasing the Echoes of Home: A Journey Through Memory and Migration”
Her mum, Hanalea, came into the living room with two pillar candles that she set down on the coffee table. “No power or water,” she grumbled. “For the rent we pay every month, you’d think we had a suite at the Waldorf. But we’re not much better off than the camps.” She put her hands on her narrow hips. Under five feet tall, like Ginnie, she had the slim body of a child, with almost no breasts. In her jeans and Rolling Stones T-shirt, she could have easily passed for Ginnie’s sister, though she was much paler and more hollow-cheeked.
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