I've been telling stories on here for awhile, since I first found out I was going to Tchad in 2007. Now here I am back on the African continent writing stories about starting an orphanage. Here's my 500th story. I walked to visit a friend and took a trail through the village. I went to Arusha town yesterday in a crowded dala dala (bus). I ate ugali with my hands (very similar to Tchadian buile). Today I washed my clothes by hand outside, I drew water from the well and I talked to a neighbor kid in English while he talked to me in Kiswahili. All these things are special. The funny thing is they make me miss home. You might be thinking my American home with my family and friends that I grew up with, worked with, and went on adventures with. That, however, is not who I was missing the most. I am missing my Tchadian family, mi famil. Because it was those wonderful people who taught me how to be an African, they taught me to draw water from a well, bathe from a bucket, eat with my
Comments
so painful
be careful! you tread on my dreams
man this is SO perfect!
all we have right now ARE our dreams!
so we shall "give" our dreams... in our dreams... and "they" shall, hopefully, tread softly yet they don't know where their feet ARE!
oh our dreams.
:)
i like.