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The Scent of Cloves

May 25, 2012

The rain had stopped. We waited by a five-passenger plane that was to take us to Zanzibar, Tanzania, a 30-minute flight east from Dar es Salaam, the east African country’s largest city. The pilot showed up late, looking distinctly worse for wear with bags under his eyes and a rumpled uniform. His henna-dyed hair showed grey roots.

He motioned for us to board, slammed the door shut and fiddled with his instruments. The single engine coughed, then purred and we took off.
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