Host
From our UK edition
In eastern Congo years ago on a road logged into a hill I drove or was driven one evening to see pygmies who claimed they were being eaten. This was possible. I’d met a woman with my name who’d watched the fire on which her arm was cooked and then devoured. The pygmies turned out to be lying and this isn’t about pygmies. In the truck I argued with the driver about gays and the Bible as we lurched through the intestinal dark toward the safe haven of a Catholic priest who fed us the baby chimpanzee we’d seen fighting his tether on the father’s porch.