THE MARK ON MY STOMACH

Afrida , the daughter of a large family living in Philadelphia , was the joy of her small home with her jet-black eyes and boundless energy. Growing up in the narrow streets, this young girl's dreams were much bigger than the neighborhood she lived in. Afrida and her friends had formed their own little music group one day. They didn't have instruments, but they had dreams. They used old tin cans they found in the trash as drums, keeping rhythm with thin sticks. Sometimes empty bottles, sometimes rusty bottle caps they found in the trash… But when those simple sounds combined with Afrida's powerful voice, the result was music so impressive it could rival even the most expensive concert halls. Their favorite spot was the narrow alley beneath the colorful laundry that the wind blew through the hills. The walls were covered with old writings, graffiti, and faded names. Children would lean their backs against those walls, look up at the sky, and sing. In this city, which had a completely different face at night, there was a truth that no one noticed. Each of these children was like an undiscovered gem. Philadelphia … America’s sixth largest city. South and Market streets, filled with crowded shopping malls, bustling cafes, and old movie theaters, teemed with people at all hours of the day. But just a few blocks from those glittering avenues, in narrow and disorganized neighborhoods, a completely different life was being lived. Growing up amidst fights, noise, and never-ending problems, this neighborhood was unknowingly nurturing a great talent. That talent was called Afrida . And nobody knew yet… One day, this girl's life would change completely with a mysterious and dangerous mark drawn on her stomach. In this city rife with murders, robberies, and all sorts of dangers, Afrida still knew how to smile. She had a father who wasn't home at night, who played music in the streets. The little girl would often see him at dawn. Her father would be tired when he came home, but he would never go to sleep without leaning down beside his daughter and planting a tender kiss on her cheeks. Afrida had a beautiful voice. Sometimes her father would pick up his guitar and teach her some of his own songs. The songs contained a long story of migration stretching from Africa to America. Sadness, longing, and hope merged in the same melodies. The dolls that the wealthy children in the neighborhood played with for a while and then threw away were treasures for Afrida .