Now, Mr. Antonio. I understand that there are people who are close to you who want me dead.___o, mija. They don__ want you dead.___hen explain this._ I handed him the picture.He chuckled again.__o, they don__ want you dead. That would be too easy. They want revenge.__old sweat broke out all over me, but I kept my face calm. I looked at him straight in the eye.__ell, then they are going to be quite disappointed, aren__ they?_ I flashed my teeth at him.__enorita, you might want to warn Senor Smith, you see, my nephew he doesn__ like to share, and if he sees another man after you, he__l get very, eh, aggressive._ The silver fox looked at me and winked.__h, he won__ have to worry._ I said as I was walking out the door. __ doubt he will be alive long enough to know Agent Smith.__hen I slammed the door.

I think of what it means to be a teenager in America, necessarily pushing boundaries, making expected mistakes. Here there is no margin for error: a mistake, no matter how insignificant, dashes any small hopes to break the cycle of poverty. Here in Kibera the world is relentless and unforgiving.

Nixon__ offences had been so long in the past, so much part of a different era that he now seemed like some lovable but bigoted uncle you tolerated at Christmas and Thanksgiving.

If this was mental illness, or even just a particularly clinical case of adolescence, I was bearing up pretty well.

Choose old people for enemies. They die. You win.

I__ always the one who doesn__ have a date, the one guys walk up to and say, __o, is your friend, you know, with someone?_ and I may not be the only girl without someone, but it feels like it sometimes. A lot of the time.