THANK YOU, MAMMA TYLER

Six years ago, I walked into a nondescript warehouse in Eugene, Oregon, to do a little temp work for a company called Swahili Imports.

Prior to that day, my exposure to Africa had come from National Geographic specials and missionaries visiting my father’s church, so I assumed all Africans were poor black people who lived in crude huts, danced wildly and dressed in bright colors (or nothing at all).

As I crossed the threshold, I had no idea I was about to be immersed in a world of amazing depth by a woman whose small stature totally belied the magnitude of her vision.