Suffrage

Today, as I was sitting with Edwin, we heard what I thought was distant thunder on a sunny morning. Edwin corrected my thinking explaining the noise was not thunder, but the voices of wild men. Intrigued, I pursued the subject.

The Rhythm of Death

I have been to at least seven funerals in Menya over the last two years. Last week, on the day of one burial, a young man found the belongings of a teenager on the banks of the river. I was there when he first reported his discovery to a small group. They each immediately concluded “oh,…