Are you my mother?
I watched with amusement as this young child grabbed the hems of a few burkas before zoning in on her mother in a busy market place. As I moved through the cities and around the countryside women threw their burkas over my head. Ensconced in our secret tents they would kiss me three times on my cheeks and thank me for me for coming. I was often invited back into their homes with them where we would secretly share a cup of cardamom...more »