Mo Tejani

This morning, perched on a wooden chair in my teeming tropical garden in northern Thailand, I am writing about Africa, the continent that still holds a firm grip on me. The sun’s warmth, after the heavy dawn shower, has

Bouncing off the potholes on the dirt road in Tanzania, the rickety blue bus is packed with black bodies dripping sweat. Every inch of space is taken. Many windows are broken; the upholstery on most of the tiny seats is torn. The smell of animal urine and people’s