Cracking the Bullwhip
It was Feb. 15th 1972 and I had just arrived in Senegal after a crazy, wild ride across the western Sahara Desert on the back of a series of very cheap, very crowded, very hot, unreliable and unscheduled local trucks. You might get a ride the next day. Or maybe the next week. Or maybe never, or so it seemed. The only casualties on the journey were three goats that I helped eat after they were butchered and cooked on…