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Our Many Garments
I asked for a receipt for the far-too-expensive visit to the small Ethiopian farmstead. The men just stared blankly at me. Was I getting ripped off? I sounded like my mother and realized that her way of dealing with things had shaped me. I tried to smooth things over with wit and charm, and without drawing attention to my womanhood. After all, women certainly don’t have much say in matters here. Secretly, I thought the guide was arrogant before realizing that he came from the line of clan leaders. And eventually, I sat in a young wife’s hut and listened to her singing, as beautiful as the savanna wind at 5 p.m.
03 June 2026 · 1 min
