LETTERS FROM TANZANIA: Mariam Mikaela Nguyu
When I was little, I was a sickly kid. I went to school for two days only to fall sick. I’d be admitted into hospital, return home, and fall ill again. Sometimes blood would spurt from my nose, or I’d cough it up; other times I’d lose my balance and crumple up on the floor. Maybe I lacked something in my body, but I suspect witchcraft. Some family members in my native Iringa village had fallen out with locals.
One day I blacked out completely and was
