GUEST WRITER : Demetria Herman Banda (Writer & Constable)  Qualification- Degree in Journalism. “Why me?! Why!” A scream echoed in all directions of the neighbourhood. People wondered, babies cried, birds ran.  “Who could that be?” asked Mrs Bulea. Nobody dared to recognise my voice. It was a voice of a heart broken woman. A voice of sadness. It expressed hatred. In no time the voice came through the walls again. It was me, the respected single lady. I couldn’t help it but rent in sadness’ peace less house. Mrs Bulea, the neighbourhood’s all time gossiper, made a good guess of my voice. Thanks to her eardrums. “That must be Delia,” she guessed to fellow women who were having a women gathering. No answer came past any woman’s mouth. “Am sure of it,” Mrs Bulea backed her guess. “Why are you suggesting that it’s my neighbour?” Mrs Mwawa wanted to know. “You know she is the only one in this neighbourhood whom life got hard on the day of every boy’s dream,” said ...