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I didn’t ask for his age but my judgment was quick to decide that he must be eight. He managed a shy smile in return for my facial sympathy. I fell for one thought straight away, this little kid, whom I regrettably did not get to ask about his name, must be one of those typical robust little villagers. His rat tail (long pony tail at the back of the head) and kiddy looks were sourly showered by broken limbs sustained from falling off a Ngali nut tree. In fact, his right forearm and leg were broken.