![]() ![]() I sighed and left her alone with her book and torchlight. ‘I don’t want.’ She made sweet eyes at me. ![]() But Ure hated baking with a purity of emotion that only a child could summon, and so she’d hide in the wardrobe behind a wall of hung clothes and stick out her tongue at me when Mama sent me to get her. Because I was a boy, I wasn’t supposed to be in the kitchen to see her hands do such tender things – my sister Ure should’ve been the one helping with the mixing and the stirring and the spreading. ![]() I grew up thinking He was folded into her body, very gently, like when she folded sifted icing sugar into beaten egg whites, those kinds of loving corners. My mother talked about God all the time, as if they were best friends, as if He was borrowing her mouth because maybe He trusted her that much or it was easier than burning bushes or He was just tired of thundering down from the skies and having no one listen to Him. Akwaeke Emezi’ s ‘Who is Like God’ is the winning entry from Africa. In partnership with the Commonwealth Writers, Granta is publishing the regional winners of the 2017 Commonwealth Short Story Prize. ![]()
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