BIMI
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Loving… The People That Time Forgot by James Ray T heir world consisted of a parcel of dried and scrubby dirt onto which they had built their home. “Home” only amounted to a ragged hovel thrown together from palm leaf mats hung onto a few worm-eaten sticks stuck in the ground. Around this hovered a number of sheep or goats—the source of any livelihood. Their lives were stories of hardship and struggle for sheer survival. Etched in their faces were deep lines and fur- rows put there by years of lashing sand and heat. The people of the Niger would live and die only to be buried at the end under the sand and rock without much notice. When in time the blow- ing dust would obscure their graves into the unforgiving landscape, no one passing by would even glance at the spot where they had been laid. After the demise of a few close loved ones who had shared their primitive existence, the world would never know that they had ever lived. Their bleak tents were cheered only by a battery radio—a prized pos- session. It was only a few years past, when the sun came up on one of their