In this remote village, not far from two lakes fabled to have been formed by the tears of star-crossed lovers, hundreds of Berber tribespeople gather each year as they have for centuries, in hopes of finding mates. Men browse and make offers as women decide whether or not to accept proposals with the phrase “You have captured my liver.” (The heart is too fickle an organ to hold true commitment to another.)
It’s random and electric, and we are forever drawn to its deadly charms
Upcoming Articles in The Walrus
December 2008
The Architecture of Fear by Charles Montgomery The Lynching of Louie Sam by John Vaillant A new Kenyan tongue by Arno Kopecky
David Lees on American eels
Alexandra Redgrave on Montreal dance and
New fiction by Peter Behrens
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