I am not sure whether I am awake or I am dreaming. I am also not sure what day of the week it is, but since we are having mukimo for supper, it must be Saturday. I am seven years old. My old man fishes out a video tape and pushes it into the mouth of the JVC video cassette recorder. The JVC swallows the video tape, gurgles for a bit, pretends to choke and then belches. After some manyunyu, images start to appear on our black kisogo Sony TV. On screen a train chugs by and in a split second a handful of silhouettes emerge out of nowhere, between the rail track and the indigo backdrop of dawn.