One night my mate came home bearing a gigantic blood sausage crafted from goat odds and ends, presented to him as a gift by a Kikuyu farmer who was concerned about my failure to produce a mtoto after an entire year of marriage. The sausage, then, was a fertility sausage.
Monthly Archives
August 2013
How about living in a French village? In the south of the country? So peaceful and relaxing. In the morning you stroll to the boulangerie for a croissant, a pain…
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