Mrs.O's writing room.

Aerial shot over the sea of Marmara in Turkey. Photo Credit: Mary Ongwen I was making dinner one fine Saturday when the doorbell rang. Two young men dressed in white shirts and black trousers stood at my door. I smiled and nearly said “Well, well, well! What have we got here?” I squished the laughter that climbed up my throat and virtually rubbed my hands with glee. I was in the mood for a good discussion. The younger man, probably 17 years old put on his biggest smile although I’m sure he’d secretly hoped no one was home.

It happened once, I was about seven, it was magical. I lost a tooth and showed it to my mom. The next morning I discovered that a rat had carried 5 shillings and a peculiar sweet and quietly tucked them under my pillow. I was amazed at how the little fella carried this hefty package. I imagined how he’d climbed up staircases, scurried round corners and pushed my bedroom door open or maybe squeezed in through a tiny opening to deliver my package. I lost another tooth, put it under my pillow and didn’t tell a soul. The next morning, the tooth was still there. I turned pillows, blankets and sheets upside down - alas! There’s wasn’t a gift in sight. Lost between shock and devastation, I wondered what ever could have happened. Was he killed in the line of duty? Years later I figured out that the conspirators. I forgave them eventually. Fast forward to my own home. Not keen on the drama, I kept it simple. You lose a tooth, I give you something small to celebrate . But word of the too