Mahambat, But Not the Opera Star We are quiet when we come in, trying not to wake a particularly mean dog. We don’t want to irk the new orphanage director, so that she will continue to condescend to allow us to come. We change to our indoor shoes and wash our hands with antibacterial soap, a cross between breath mints and pine disinfectant. Sometimes the volunteers laugh sarcastically at the administrators’ outfits, sparkly, open-backed getups, finished with high heels. ...

My Friend Halit When I first addressed the herder, he answered in grunts. I did not know his name, nor did he care to know mine. Maybe he thought I was haughty. His military coat was tattered, and his felt boots were covered with the muck that filled the ground between the horse stalls and the crumbling, concrete wall. I always take care to have my black leather chaps polished. While he wouldn't let me help catch the horses, this...