I was always learning things about Baba from other people.

He said Baba had done enough for his family already.

The problem, of course, was that Baba saw the world in black and white.

Soon we'd leave too, and for the first time ever, Baba would be all alone.

He put his hand on Baba's shoulder and turned to me.

I spent the night sitting on a chair next to Baba's bed.

Everyone knew the reason, so no one had to actually say it: that Baba didn't have months to live.

And my room was across the hall from Baba's bedroom.

Just before midnight, Baba asked us to help him into bed.

Even Baba had to have a reason to strap him.

Baba went on staring me down, and didn't offer to read.

Things between Baba and me were already cooling off again.

Then the wedding, which would be paid for by Baba.

He then asked Baba to bring down the deer skin for him.

The area is also often referred to simply as "Baba".

But now there seems to be something of a baba renaissance.

This lead to strained relationship between Baba and his father.

After dinner, Baba took me to a bar across the street from the restaurant.

"Baba didn't get the chance to tell you but I got married fifteen years ago."

She asks the same baba if there is a solution.

One of the refugees asked Baba why he wasn't joining them.

If you ever get lost, Baba used to say, remember that our street is the one with the pink house at the end of it.

But Baba had found a way to create good out of his remorse.

It seemed as if she had been in Baba's inner contact for years.

But on the last day of my stay there, Baba refused to hunt.