When she was a child, her father was always in prison. At 12, she stopped seeing him, but, 10 years on, she hoped to meet him and discover why he behaved as he did
In Maya Jama’s earliest memory, the police are knocking on the door, and then they are asking her: “Where’s your dad?” Maya knew exactly where he was: under the bed. “I told them, and they pulled him out and took him away. And I felt guilty, because I’d given away his hiding place.”That was two decades ago. For most of Maya’s childhood, her dad was, as she puts it, “banged up. It wasn’t one long sentence, it was lots of sentences – sentence after sentence. Mostly, it was for violence, for pub brawls and fights. The usual thing was that he’d be drinking and get into a fight. Someone would get hurt, and he’d go to jail.”
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