Inside a dimly lit African hut, an old woman known as Mama Nshira sits on a low wooden stool. Her back is bent, her skin wrinkled like the b...

Inside a dimly lit African hut, an old woman known as Mama Nshira sits on a low wooden stool. Her back is bent, her skin wrinkled like the bark of an ancient tree. Her eyes are small yet piercingly sharp, glinting in the glow of a single lantern burning on the dusty floor. Around her are clay pots, hanging ...