Imagine all this happening to your children. And to your neighbour’s children. And to the children who play football up and down your street, in the dust and the heat and the rain, whose joy and whose laughter has been a gift all your days. Imagine all this happening to the mother of your children. To the mother of your neighbour’s children. To the mother of the quiet boy three doors down who dreams of becoming a journalist, or businessman. To a whole street of mothers. Imagine all this happening to the mechanic in the next block with the missing tooth, a ready smile, who can make any motor purr. To the musician whose name you never learn. To the couple whose shop opens late into evening, who sell the best mangoes. Imagine your home, gone. The dress shop where your sister worked, flattened. The hospital that looked after your father, nothing but rubble. Imagine all these futures, all these possibilities extinguished. Imagine being told by those of us who believe our children will always be safe will always be blessed will always be healthy, imagine being told that this is complicated, that you have brought this on yourself, that we are content you shall feast on concrete, on grief, and on death. Imagine us telling you that when you cradle the broken body of your child you are showing us a doll. She was only ever a doll. Imagine that. Slip on those bloodied shoes. Imagine.