Yesterday I was walking down the street here in town down here in the Sahara with two of my new fellow PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers). One of them, David, an energetic, motivated, visionary fellow, lives here in the same town as me. The other, Ariana, a young, fresh-faced, wide-eyed young gal, lives just a few kilometers south of this town.
As we were walking down the street, we heard what sounded like someone crying out whilst being brutally tortured. The younger of my companions, the young, recent college graduate, hesitated in her steps, seemingly terrified by the cry of apparent angst and extreme pain. While I certainly found the sound to be less than pleasant to hear, I continued walking, confident that we had just heard something other than a person screaming because he or she was being subjected to inhumane treatment. I found my perception confirmed after we had taken a dozen more steps and saw a couple of goats lying tied up in a cart on the sidewalk, which had been the source of the bleats we had heard.
As we were walking down the street, we heard what sounded like someone crying out whilst being brutally tortured. The younger of my companions, the young, recent college graduate, hesitated in her steps, seemingly terrified by the cry of apparent angst and extreme pain. While I certainly found the sound to be less than pleasant to hear, I continued walking, confident that we had just heard something other than a person screaming because he or she was being subjected to inhumane treatment. I found my perception confirmed after we had taken a dozen more steps and saw a couple of goats lying tied up in a cart on the sidewalk, which had been the source of the bleats we had heard.
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