
Internally Displaced: Talking With The Village Headman
"It would be nearly six hours of human pinball inside the cab of a pickup before we reached our destination. The asphalt had forfeit long ago to rutted mud and what was left of that had choked to a trail impassable any farther by car. Not a minute after the truck doors liberated us, my fellow Karen passengers were spitting Betel nut and watering the nearby trees with a revealing nonchalance. Somehow I had made my way into a dark, soupy puddle deep enough to get the rolled up cuffs of my pants a little wet. Lucky for me, I was still in my sandals. I had brought my boots but they were stowed among all my other jungle toting paraphernalia in back. No one ever tells you how to dress for these things."
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