Locating the African Man
I sat with a father who held the hand of his adult daughter as she fitfully slept, jerking awake anytime the large growth, which had consumed her breast and migrated to her left...
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In My Village
On particularly hot days, when the prospect of conducting another interview feels particularly onerous, languid afternoons often degenerate into play. Or should I say, something approximating play but probably closer to a theatre...
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