He made a cross with his fingers and pointed it toward me. I furrowed my brow.

If a kid walked up to me like this in America, I would have forked over my wallet, because surely, he was throwing up a gang sign. But this isn't South Central. It's the Buea School for the Deaf and this boy only wanted conversation.

“What is your name?” he asked in sign language.

I twisted my fingers rather clumsy to spell what I hoped translated to Heather. He shook his head and smiled.

It is the end of the ...