Here, at the river’s widest point, is the only place we can stand without being seen by them. We wave and blow kisses, calling to each other in vain.
It has been 427 days since I last held her in my arms – my sister, my best friend. Each night my dreams are plagued with thoughts of building a raft, or swimming across, somehow holding my precious son high above my head to keep him safe. But it is impossible. The current is too strong, the waters too deep.
I crossed over that day, chasing a rumour of fresh flour, baby formula and potatoes. I never imagined they would demolish the bridge. I never imagined that I would be separated from my son. My dreams are torture.