The more they walked, the more Selah picked up on details around her. It was if she was learning to see the slum, notice elements that had at first evaded her notice. That most shacks and brick huts had blue water drums placed on the edge of their roofs, their sides stamped with a yellow logo and the words One World NGO. The vast cobwebbed tangles of power lines that emanated from rough poles of wood, each patched and stealing electricity from the other, till the top of each pole disappeared into a cloud of snarled black wire. The small faces that watched them pass, eyes large, hidden in the shadows of windows, doorways. Homes under construction, piles of bricks stacked neatly beside them. The napping dogs of indeterminate color, the rats creeping through the trash underfoot, the occasional rooster perched regally on a high retaining wall, the early morning sunlight setting its feathers aflame in a riot of glorious hues.