You know them, you have seen them. Forty and fifty something year olds walking hand-over-waist with girlfriends barely out of teenage, downing whiskies in both cheap and expensive clubs, sneaking in and out of guest houses. Girls so young, the smell of colostrum lingers just below that of generic mix…
In my travels across Afrika, I came across a century old grave yard right on the shores of the Indian Ocean. On the sandy beach of Bagamoyo, a small historic town in Tanzania, rests the remains of german soldiers from the colonial era. Right there overlooking the wide expanse of…
Years ago I read a remarkable piece about how we relate to our parents. I can’t remember the exact words or who wrote it and I can’t seem to find it online but I am forever grateful to whoever penned it. It went something like this: As a three year…