I work in a factory in Muncie, Indiana. Not many people can say that these days.
In fact, many believe that Muncie’s best days–our factory days–are behind us. Our schools are going through budget and transportation issues and a third of our citizens live in poverty. There’s a lack of hope that we can’t be more than our struggles. That we can’t thrive without factories.
I don’t work on a factory line, but I do make things. I create stories.
For the last ten years I’ve traveled around the world to meet the people who produce many of the things in our lives that we take for granted. I’ve worked alongside coffee farmers…
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(My friends James and Thomas)
“Hello, whiteman,” the bush said.
I looked around, but couldn’t see anyone. I wondered if this was how Moses felt?
I thought I must’ve been hearing things, so I kept walking toward the fancy café in Nairobi’s Westlands area. It was closed. Everything was closed today.
It’s election day in Kenya.
Christmas or apocalypse?
When I left my hotel the guard—a woman in a black suit with a red tie— had asked me where I was going. I’ve gotten to know her a bit over the few days I’ve been in Nairobi. Yesterday when I was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, she nearly insisted that I go back to my room and get my sweatshirt.
I had told her I was walking…
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