Mbabarira, or, my heart hurts
I have a slew of things to post from Congo, but right now, indulge me, from Kigali. Mbabarira is Kinyarwanda for “Forgive me,” which…
Read MoreI have a slew of things to post from Congo, but right now, indulge me, from Kigali. Mbabarira is Kinyarwanda for “Forgive me,” which…
Read MoreThis was meant to be a post a few days ago, but I accidentally put it up as a page. I blame Congo. Two…
Read MoreMy colleague and I could think of very few things in the world that could possibly be as interesting as the National Museum of…
Read MoreIf she were still in New York or Paris – anywhere but here, really – Adama Kargbo would be wearing striped socks that reach…
Read MoreOn my taxi ride to the border, my Congolese driver asked me how the Democratic Republic of Congo compares to America. The dichotomy struck…
Read MoreNear Kinshasa’s biggest airport, I happened to catch sight of what might be its only train. It makes the blue metal boxes clanking through…
Read MoreIn Congo brutality seems to be everywhere: history, war, politics; in the landscape and the poverty and the desperate chug of locals’ day-to-day lives….
Read MoreUmwenda, the village along the Nile River where Mr. Wasige was born, is unremarkable, which is to say it has as little as most…
Read MoreI’ve been in eastern Congo for the last 3 weeks, and the internet here is terrible. This is, in fact, the first day it…
Read MoreBUTARE, RWANDA — Sandra Uwimbabazi knows runways – she’s modeled for years – but she stumbled on a recent Saturday here. A tall, slender…
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