"Why do we prune the garden?" the little girl asked. "So the branches can sculpt new beginnings," said the old woman. "And why do we need...

She used to smile wide and reveal an orange rind her long hair—grey and straight—gently hanging down her spine She'd make us...

There lives a kind man with wavy, silver hair and a latin tongue that speaks volumes of romance even when ordering simple pasta with red...

There was a young Mozambican man who carved beautiful birds out of wood. They stood tall and stately—some with elegant bent beaks, all...

The strip and curve of Waikiki—with its swanky designer stores along Kalakaua and its glistening, almost fully human-made beach of clear...

The village was buzzing with the musings of everyday, as the rhythm of the pestle hit the bottom of the mortar—the clap in the...

I once lived in a far off culture where the ceremony of arrival was full of tradition—the host breaks the pink kola nut cut into small...

I met a kind man in 1991. He had travelled across a large swath of land in Mozambique some years before, stepping over the borderline of...

There is a memory of a river—long and deep—remote and isolated but full of the things it is meant to carry—in a place ever swallowed by...

Mistaela Correia was born in 1954 in Gorongosa. When he was 12 years old his grandfather died. As was customary, his family made a...

In the village, this chore always brings the silhouette of a woman or girl, though sometimes boys show up sporting their might. Mostly...

The village was nestled in the rainforest, over 15 miles from the main, red-dirt road that slithered the country of Liberia from north to...

It was 1995 and a very long ride of swells on a dhow to get to the Island of Ibo, with its bluest waters and pink coral, its whitest...

The rains would come heavy each afternoon in this hot tropical land—mostly—without fail. And those who had—even just a bit more than the...

It was a blanket of mystic and awe along the River Buzi. Its water embracing precariously those who travel along its deepness. And then...

Chomba Chakala Chakulumamwanyoka was born of the Makonde in Miula in the year when they built the shops in Namawa village. An elder—Ndona...

It was July 1992 when Samsão Damangani sat down with me in the urban sprawl of Maputo City. He was 78 at the time, an old man—he...

Under the shade of tall, swaying coconut trees in the far away town of Buzi in Sofala, in December 1994, a woman—an elder—Macore...

To the side of my door, he would come. His young face gnarled with piercing eyes and burned out skin, that's what, today, floats to the...

The boy walked the streets—cobblestone, dirt, paved—with a long back, strong feet, determined eyes, and quick wit. He walked the streets...

They call it musiro in Kimwani. It's a piece of wood from the xumbuti tree—ground against a sand-like stone using a bit of water creating...

In the spirit of tradition, the men cleared the farmer's field, made offerings to those who had come before. The women—lined up, wrapped...

They used to go early in the morning to the beach. They used ndala—prawns—as bait for fishing off the coast, casting the line and hook...

They keep the bzinyanga in a sack on the veranda of Phoinde Vinte's house in the village of Mpadwe in the Province of Tete. It's much...