The road to Inhaminga, in Mozambique, is populated by ghosts that wander in the dark. The bullets fell silent almost half a century ago, but I can still hear their echo. I'm looking for revolutions that I don't know when they end. Along ...See moreThe road to Inhaminga, in Mozambique, is populated by ghosts that wander in the dark. The bullets fell silent almost half a century ago, but I can still hear their echo. I'm looking for revolutions that I don't know when they end. Along the way, I only find words that span time.
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