Tria She is tall, a teenager, listening to her music and cooking vegetables. Her mother is sleeping on the cot in the corner. They share the twenty by twenty room with five other women – all from Africa. It’s clean and there is a fridge and carpets on the floor.
Dhio The basketball is beyond over-inflated. When I dribble it, it bounces almost above my head. The kid who makes the bags from the discarded life jackets and pieces of boat and I are shooting hoops at Pipka while the Afghanistan girl takes a break from riding in circles on
Dino is Greek. He’s not Greek because his mother is Greek though she most certainly is and Dino’s ears still ring from when she screamed and cursed at Dino and his two brothers growing up, with love mind you, but still, the screaming – he can still hear it. And
Silence in Africa “Are the Maasai happy with the conservancies Maison?” “Oh yes very happy.” Maison and his three brothers have 450 acres in Mara North that they receive rent payments on. One plot was given their father, a former policeman their father was smart enough to buy two more
I’ve always had a fascination with Burma, or Myanmar as it is now known. It started way back when I first visited the beautiful home, now monument to a legendary silk merchant Jim Thompson in Bangkok, Thailand. His contribution to the silk trade in the region including Burma and unexplained