
Ngugi, the Kenyan griot, sat us down one cold evening at Kuto and told us about the day Silone said our savage languages had no more than two or three words in vocabulary. Ngugi told us he sprung to his feet like Amalinze the cat, to defend us, to defend these packets of rhythm […]
from Brittle Paper http://ift.tt/2jzTeiY
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