Written and translated by Linda
“You’re a spy for the American Empire! How can you believe in a foreign devil’s God?!” spat out the pock-faced village gossip next to her ear, as she knelt on the cold dirt floor. The jeers of the rest of the villagers who turned up were rising up in volume on the threshing ground, used for larger meetings. Tears threatened to break free, but she bit her lip and kept her head down, waiting for the participants of the “struggle session” to get tired of “re-educating” her. She began going over her favourite song in her head in an attempt to fade out the angry voices. “Even though the fig trees have no—” Suddenly, a thick wet glob fell onto her neck—someone had spat on her. This was not the first time it happened, and she knew better than to wipe it away then—it would provoke them to spit again.