Before the fire that destroyed her house, the narrator had a friend with whom she shared a good part of her life. They had parted in an argument that grew nasty with racial name-calling and we wondered if the bond of childish friendship, so tainted by the world in which the two girls lived, could overcome. But here, in the dark night of the fire, as the family tries to get safely away and the crowd has dispersed, the narrator sees her friend:
Then, not so far off, I saw Tia and her mother and I ran to her, for she was all that was left of my life as it had been.
We had eaten the same food, slept side by side, bathed in the same river. As I ran, I thought, I will live with Tia and I will be like her. Not to leave Coulibri. Not to go. Not. When I was close I saw the jagged stone in her hand but I did not see her throw it. I did not feel it either, only something wet, running down my face. I looked at her and I saw her face crumple up as she began to cry, We stared at each other, blood on my face, tears on hers. It was as if I saw myself. Like in a looking glass. (p. 45)
Two young girls, at odds with who they are, where they are. Unable to get beyond the required behavior of their society once that bridge if innocence has been broken by knowledge. They reach out to close the gap; one with hope, one with stone.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology