South Korea after Sudan (2005-2007)

“아프리카! 띠까띠까!”

When kids jeer, their words whip your heart because you infer their innocence as the truth. I am equally eight years old; despite my kindred look as my peers, I am an alien. My skin is too dark. I had ripened for three years under the Sudanese sun. Stress, the doctor says, left a physical mark on the MRI scan. How can this be? My parents are innocent suspects who are now ushered out of the room. I tell the doctor the truth, which he remarks as jeers. He chisels away the hardness and offers me a candy to replace the mass that I carry.