I lived for over twenty years in the Horn of Africa, where miracles, angels, and the unexplainable are expected, anticipated even. The idea that the spiritual world intersects with the physical world is a given. Disposing of my clipped fingernails improperly opened me up to being cursed. Not being careful where I stepped in the squatty potty at night might mean stepping on a jinni, a mischievous devil who could give me a rash. The rash could be healed by writing words from the Quran onto a piece of paper, washing the paper in water from the well of Zamzam in Mecca, and then drinking the water under the watchful eye of a sheikh.

There’s also a certain shepherd who appears unexpectedly in dreams.