Came across a brief visceral passage in :
Blood River; A Journey to Africa’s Broken Heart
Tim Butcher
Page 89 (Vintage Books Paperback)
I was only half-listening as I watched a group of charcoal-burners struggling to bring the produce of their day's work into town. Large chunks of charcoal had been crammed into floppy cages woven from thin strips of brown bark. The cages were then flung across the handlebars and frame of old bicycles, with more cages piled on top. The crazy, tottering loads were on the final leg of their journey, heaved through the sand into town by the bare-chested men, whose already dark bodies were streaked with smears of sweat-congealed, jet-black charcoal powder.Inspired to ask what would AI make of that
