As a journalist, I've reported from Mexico City's seediest rock bars, a swingers' club in San Francisco and a piercing party in Los Angeles where pain lovers found transcendental bliss by pushing needles through one another's uglies. So, I wasn't exactly a blushing violet when invited to a Maasai village in Kenya for an afternoon inside a hut made of cow dung and human urine plus a chat about genital mutilation and drinking cow blood directly from the jugular.
