“Mam. Korkor came behind me, and Papa, but none would pull me away. Not the smell of fresh greens, not my Ol’ Ma, not my Ol’ Pa. Not the cake and streamers, or turning five. I remained near the window waiting. I needed it to rain again. I wanted to hear Mam sing.” 

It’s Wayetu’s birthday. Though her family dedicates the day to her, she longs for her mother. The repetition of Mam’s name in the first chapter becomes a mantra. Personal upheaval characterizes the first section of the novel, in which Wayetu’s vision of her mother and the hope of reuniting with her anchor the narrative.

“Papa was a good man. Many people told him this. And I thought I was a good girl, and always apologized when I pinched too hard and one of my sisters cried.” 

Boy rebels confront Wayetu, her father, and her siblings. The boys yell and point guns, prompting Wayetu to cry. She recreates the thoughts of her five-year-old self who cannot understand why the boys have guns and why they point those guns at her and her family. In her young mind, being quintessentially “good” should be enough to elude harm. 

“All of them had big eyes, sharp teeth and moved like they were playing football, chasing a moving target, but nothing was on the ground.” 

Moore recalls her observations of the boy rebels. She describes them as manic and monstrous. The latter conforms to the book’s fairy-tale motif, while the former observation hints at the likelihood that the boy rebels were given drugs to make it easier for them to stalk and kill perceived enemies.