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She directed our little sister to a chinaberry tree with giant overhanging branches a few yards away.

That was when I saw some branches rustle on the chinaberry tree across the road from the school.

Dozens of men had gathered under the chinaberry trees to talk politics and chew khat, a mild stimulant beloved in the communities that skirt the western Indian Ocean.

“It was nothing but scrub trees, chinaberry and hackberry.”

One of the old ladies from the residences yet to be converted to a rooming house was outside in her pink housecoat, sweeping chinaberries off her sidewalk.