El valle del Omo, situado en la Gran Valle del Rift de África, es el hogar de unos 200.000 indígenas que han vivido allí durante miles de años. Entre ellos se encuentran entre 1.000 y 3.000 Karo que moran en la orilla oriental del río el cultivo y la práctica de inundaciones-retiro Omo, creciendo el sorgo, el maíz y el frijol.

Naturaleza * lucha * resistencia 


Was I addicted to the pain that was brought to me? or was I just afraid of letting it go? I knew I had to do something to fight it back.. I just couldn’t. My life had been torn to pieces. It had been shredded apart. Wasn’t this my life plan? Where did I go wrong? I lost myself. Where was i gonna go next? I panicked. I wanted to be there, but I knew it was the end to it. Please! let me stay! I couldn’t. They wouldn’t let me. They were afraid. Afraid of losing me again. I was alive, wasn’t that enough for them? Jesus Christ. I didn’t want to go back. This city was no longer mine, there was sadness written on every corner. Where did they all go? My friends, my lovers, my family? I had lost them.. or had they lost me? I hated myself. Every bit of me. Was I an addict? To the pain? to the drugs? to the sex? What was it about me that had haunted me to act this way? Why did I change? Not only physically, but emotionally.. I was ruined. I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror. It was another person, with a vague resemblance to me. So I thought.. and I asked myself.. Is it me? or is it you? who are you? I was losing my mind. Or maybe I had already lost it, somewhere between me driving in a cab, and doing drugs with a guy I barely knew in his apartment. Somewhere in between. I didn’t regret everything I did.. for some things, I longed for, and somethings I had great memories. Although, I regretted some nights, those lonely nights of anger and despair. i had become addicted to the emotional crack pipe. I had to let go.