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November 2016


A feast for the ghosts past


I have spoken to you about the romance of both gray and deep blue seas, of fishermen that walk through my grandmother’s door. These are the tastes and sights that permeated my childhood and are easy to conjure up.

But there are some things I’ve left out.

I have never spoken to you of tropical flavors. Of the avocado and lime smoothies we drank every morning in Ethiopia. Of the many gifted guavas in my village in Namibia. Of the strange fruits and flowers that hang low and densely in utterly foreign lands.

I have never spoken to you about the colors.The green mangoes. Big bright red buckets. The street hawkers.

And the perfect chaos. Combis, taxis, cows, women with their colorful cloths as aprons and all that loud local music.

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