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Although it was raining in the same consistent manner of a heartbeat, Henry Stanley was sweaty. This vast, huge, massive, gigantic forest had become like a wet, damp prison. His legs felt like left-over porridge that was ready to be scrapped from the bottom of the bowl and thrown away.

Those who are not used to it find its very sight distasteful. They wonder how you can eat a vegetable that is so slippery that it keeps sliding from your fingers. How is it supposed to make it into your mouth?

When Madalina was born, her family lived near isoko y’amazi atemba, a source of running water. She used to carry an old pot that her mother had exchanged with a potter for three baskets of taro. Her mother used to half- teasingly tell her that if she ever breaks the clay container, she would never find a husband, but that was before. Longtime before her marriage.