As the winter sun ascends over a mustard farm, pale orange bleeding into sharp yellow, a line of 36 girls all dressed alike T-shirts, track pants, crew cuts emerges into an open field, rubbing sleep from their eyes.Under a tin shed, they sit on their haunches, bent over stone mortars.For the next 20 minutes, they crush raw almonds into a fine paste, straining out a bottle of nut milk.
[
add
]
[
|
|
...
]