p3rs0na

After Holland, we went East. Vietnam first. Then Thailand. Eventually Cambodia. I don’t remember when exactly one country ended and the next began — it all blended together in the way childhood does when you’re always unpacking in a new timezone. The streets were alive — loud, colorful, chaotic in ...

We had to leave Sudan. Word got around that the rebel armies were getting closer. And worse — they were hunting white people. We weren’t just visitors anymore. We were targets. My dad, who always had a feel for the undercurrents, caught wind of it early. No drama, no panic ...

Let’s start with the facts. I was born a bastard. Technically. Two days after I came into this world, my parents got married — paperwork caught up to the prophecy fast. My mother, a Dutch/South African social worker. My father, a Dutch anthropologist. Not exactly your picket fence couple. They ...