Adama. Blue faded jean ensemble, bright lime green headwrap, sweeping in the dusty dull light of morning.
Adama. Silouetted in the dark rectangle doorframe of her cooking hut, against the bright flames of dinner.
My harmonica, unearthed from the soap flakes on the bottom of my brown bucket-passing from the mouth of everyone in my family and appearing, ahead of me, at Bakh's house.
Fary Sall, and her big, boarish husband, sitting on their porch, surrounded by child painted lekkets (gourds), stringing them.
The beautiful, beautiful, hand painted lekkets, shiny and brilliantly colored, posted around CM1.
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