Palm wine
Nana hacked through the bush with his machete until we found the path again. He was guiding us on a post-lunch hike to meet an acquaintance. We weaved in and out of cocoa trees, half crouching to slip underneath the leaves in stealth mode.
I tried to look back at JD but nearly lost my footing on the knots of roots and rocks.
"You good, buddy?" I …
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