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This dusty, hot Saturday, I have the privilege of meeting a very significant person: a mad, starving, nearly naked little girl who picks through the garbage outside a whorehouse on the outskirts of a dusty Indian town.
By Jon C. JenkinsMarch 1990In a man of his size and complexion, however, many found the reserve unnerving. Mr. Cody, the history teacher, referred to him in private — with more than slightly nervous humor — as “My Bad Conscience.” Also, as “Doom.” Most people called him Elmer, and stayed out of his way.
By Tim FarringtonDecember 1989I was aware early on that we were on separate vacations, you in a sun-drenched country on the cusp of the rainy season, and I as lost as a piece of luggage, fallen into some dark, sludgy place, a certain waxy glaze over everything.
By S.L. WisenbergSeptember 1989In January of 1966 an old Crow woman, tired of her age and the palsied chattering of her body, walked from Powder River all the way up Crazy Woman Creek into the Bighorns. She thought she would be as the original Crazy Woman, another Indian dying alone in the snow.
By David RomtvedtAugust 1988When I came to understand that there are mythic patterns in all of our lives, I knew that all of us, often unbeknownst to ourselves, are engaged in a drama of soul which we were told was reserved for gods, heroes, and saints.
By Deena MetzgerJanuary 1988One of my hopes is that by telling stories from different cultures, I’m weaving closed some tears in the social fabric of a society that values the white, Christian, male perspective, and shuns and suppresses other ways of seeing. By telling stories from different parts of the world to children all over the world, I hope I’m uniting people by expanding their awareness of each other.
By Sy SafranskyAugust 1987I first met Mataji at the river. I had travelled a long way by bus, boat, and truck. The Middle Eastern countries were hard to travel through. I was pelted with rocks once. Women just don’t travel alone in Muslim areas.
By Marilyn StableinJune 1986Curt said, “Indians. Buffalo. Jack, I think you’d better stay in town a while, take a vacation. Loneliness can cause hallucinations, you know.”
By Jon RemmerdeFebruary 1985Electricity came to Akcil six weeks before I did. There is only one way to reach the village — the hard way, by the road north to the precipitous edge of Turkey, and that is the road the new power line and I both took.
By Jon SensbachNovember 1984Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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