Sorry to say, your boss is not your mother!
The tears roll down my cheeks, prickling my face with their heat and moisture, just like the waterfalls in Thika Kenya, where I grew up. They whoosh down with an ebb that can I cannot halt. I try and make sense of this surge for a few days until I realise, I have lost a whole generation. My father’s generation is no more- all gone, gone gone….