For as long as I can remember, my life revolved around charcoal. Not business plans, not dreams, not holidays—just charcoal. I woke up before sunrise, walked long distances into the forest, cut wood, burned it slowly in earth kilns, and waited days for the blackened pieces that barely fed my family. Every year felt the same.
Dry seasons were cruel. Rainy seasons were worse. Smoke damaged my lungs, my hands were permanently cracked, and my back ached like that of an old man even though I was still young.
Christmas was always the hardest time.…CONTINUE READING