I’m not going to lie: it’s a little scary to walk through a pitch dark, packed market, lit by only tiny flickering gas candles, pursued everywhere by the ghostly yell: Yavoo! Yavoo! White woman!
Luckily, I had Millicent’s warm hand on my arm as we wove through the shadowy stalls to buy her ingredients for the week.
When you live or travel in a country far less expensive than your own, [...Read More!]