Monday, September 29, 2008
Your emails
Woah! i just got tons of emails fro, you guys!!! i have limited time now on qa french computer.... but i think iùll be qble to answer most of your emails next week!!! love you qll and thankd for keeping in touch!
Things to share
Hello Everyone!
It's been quite a difficult journey getting this blog to you. In the city this weekend, the internet was down at the office and then my own personal computer died (may it rest in peace) and all of the emails and blog entries I had written are now gone. Here on my friend Caroline's computer, I've been able to type up some excerpts of my journal entries from the week and the ones I saved from my computer for you to read in the following entries. lI'm now at a littlle internet cafe, looking through this little screen I have to the outside world.
All in all, things have been going well. I'm living the life- really. I love my village- there are alot of opprotunitiies for development, and I think the next two years are going to be great. So, read what you want, and don't forget to keep in touch!
Love you!
Em
It's been quite a difficult journey getting this blog to you. In the city this weekend, the internet was down at the office and then my own personal computer died (may it rest in peace) and all of the emails and blog entries I had written are now gone. Here on my friend Caroline's computer, I've been able to type up some excerpts of my journal entries from the week and the ones I saved from my computer for you to read in the following entries. lI'm now at a littlle internet cafe, looking through this little screen I have to the outside world.
All in all, things have been going well. I'm living the life- really. I love my village- there are alot of opprotunitiies for development, and I think the next two years are going to be great. So, read what you want, and don't forget to keep in touch!
Love you!
Em
My Routine
9-23
Things are going very well for the most part- I’ve settled into somewhat of a routine and I feel like I’m doing what little I can to get my work rolling. I wake up pretty early every morning and have a few hours to myself to run, workout, or clean up before I go to the health center. My host mother brings me my corn porriage which I always mix with peanut butter. I boil some water and make some powdered milk with coffee or hot chocolate or protein powder. I draw my water from the well, take my bucket bath, and then walk over to the health center about 8:30 or 9. I work for a few hours, doing silly little tasks that they could certainly do without me- taking blood pressures, weighing women and helping with prenatal counsels. My favorite day is baby vaccination day because dozens of the most adorable babies come in on their mother’s backs. The baby weighing process isn’t quite down pat yet, so I’ve been helping with that. I have however, given up on actually holding the baby because most of them so scared to be held b a white girl that they end up peeing on me. I've also started to give a few presentations in conjunction with these days. To start off, I taught the women how to make oral rehydration solution. Go figure the first time I mixed up the salt and sugar and put way too much salt in and my coworker, Aja was laughing at me for the rest of the morning. Aja is 20 and is one of my best friends here. She helps me out a lot, and I’m helping her learn English (which would be her fourth language). She is doing somewhat of an interhip here, but is planning on going to medical school in the future.
Right before lunch I tutor my homolouge’s awkward 16-year old son in English. It’s not the first thing I want to be doing, but it’s how I can pay back my homolouge’s family for feeding me lunch everyday. After lunch, I study Bambara on my own for a while (I still haven't found a tutor) and then I "yalayala" (walk around) the village, talking to people, asking them questions about life in Dombila.
By about 4:00 boy's club starts. I teach beginning Enlish to 6 little boys (from 7-12 years old) and then afterwords, we do a workout. So I suppose I just accidentatly started my running club because one-by-one they just started following me. Now, we do little runs through the fields, stop to do pushups, lunges, and sometimes a dip in the little river that runs through it. They have a blast.
Afterwords, I take my second bucket bath, prepare and eat my dinner. Usually I just cook up anything I can find- rice, beans, potatoes, eggs.... I discovered a maringa tree in the middle of the village, whose leaves are packed with iron, protien, and fiber, so I"ve started to add them to my meal. Caroline, my teammate, came to visit one night and we cooked the extreames of both the prossesed and natural food worlds- boxed mac and cheese mixed with cooked maringa leaves. Afterwords, I relax in my family's compound, chatting, drinking tea, playing guitar and eating grilled corn until about 9:30 when I crash in bed. Donni, donni, and day by day, but you know, life is pretty good.
Things are going very well for the most part- I’ve settled into somewhat of a routine and I feel like I’m doing what little I can to get my work rolling. I wake up pretty early every morning and have a few hours to myself to run, workout, or clean up before I go to the health center. My host mother brings me my corn porriage which I always mix with peanut butter. I boil some water and make some powdered milk with coffee or hot chocolate or protein powder. I draw my water from the well, take my bucket bath, and then walk over to the health center about 8:30 or 9. I work for a few hours, doing silly little tasks that they could certainly do without me- taking blood pressures, weighing women and helping with prenatal counsels. My favorite day is baby vaccination day because dozens of the most adorable babies come in on their mother’s backs. The baby weighing process isn’t quite down pat yet, so I’ve been helping with that. I have however, given up on actually holding the baby because most of them so scared to be held b a white girl that they end up peeing on me. I've also started to give a few presentations in conjunction with these days. To start off, I taught the women how to make oral rehydration solution. Go figure the first time I mixed up the salt and sugar and put way too much salt in and my coworker, Aja was laughing at me for the rest of the morning. Aja is 20 and is one of my best friends here. She helps me out a lot, and I’m helping her learn English (which would be her fourth language). She is doing somewhat of an interhip here, but is planning on going to medical school in the future.
Right before lunch I tutor my homolouge’s awkward 16-year old son in English. It’s not the first thing I want to be doing, but it’s how I can pay back my homolouge’s family for feeding me lunch everyday. After lunch, I study Bambara on my own for a while (I still haven't found a tutor) and then I "yalayala" (walk around) the village, talking to people, asking them questions about life in Dombila.
By about 4:00 boy's club starts. I teach beginning Enlish to 6 little boys (from 7-12 years old) and then afterwords, we do a workout. So I suppose I just accidentatly started my running club because one-by-one they just started following me. Now, we do little runs through the fields, stop to do pushups, lunges, and sometimes a dip in the little river that runs through it. They have a blast.
Afterwords, I take my second bucket bath, prepare and eat my dinner. Usually I just cook up anything I can find- rice, beans, potatoes, eggs.... I discovered a maringa tree in the middle of the village, whose leaves are packed with iron, protien, and fiber, so I"ve started to add them to my meal. Caroline, my teammate, came to visit one night and we cooked the extreames of both the prossesed and natural food worlds- boxed mac and cheese mixed with cooked maringa leaves. Afterwords, I relax in my family's compound, chatting, drinking tea, playing guitar and eating grilled corn until about 9:30 when I crash in bed. Donni, donni, and day by day, but you know, life is pretty good.
A Running Partner
9-18
I've found a running prodigy- Shaka- my 11 year old younger host brother- is absolutely amazing. Yesterday, I was running to the butiki (small shop) and he and my other two younger brothers came along. Do you think we can run all the way to the butiki? It was about a half a mile- they all did it with ease- and for Shaka, I didn't have to slow my normal pace.
Do you think we can run all the way home? Piece of cake. No we're not tired. No we're not done. We ended up running about 4 miles and he hardly broke sweat. The two younger ones actually did a pretty good job for their age as well.
I ahead already ran n the morning, but thought I would encourage the boys to do another 3ish for me. Afterwords, we went to the soccer field to do sprints. Shaka's got speed too! He never fell a step behind me- though I think he probably could have out sprinted me too, but he was either being polite or he does not yet realize his own speek because he barely lost his breath. We returned to the house, stretched, and I gave them some peanuts and water. Good workout boys.
"Aminata, let's go"- says Shaka
"Where?"
"Running."
He hadn't had enough- we did three more miles- passed by his girlfriend's house as always- and paused to do some pushups and lunges before returning back If it wasn't getting dark and we weren't eating soon, he would have kept going.
I'm going to the maket with you Saturday, he says. It's about 4 or 5 miles away. But I'm riding my bike there. He sayd "no problem, "I will run." As much as I want to see this boy run 10 miles, I'm going to spend the day there hanging out with my teammate Caroline, so I'd be better off without compan. I'm sure though, we'll be running a lot together. I wonder if there's any opprotunities for him to pursue his talents. If only I could find him a place to shine- I have fantasizes about trainning him for stardom. The only time he slows down is during the real rocky parts of the road- he has no shoes.
9=20
The next morning I woke up before my brothers and decided to run a few miles before they joined me. After about 2 miles, I met Shaka on the road. “Aminata, I’m coming to the market in Dio with you today.” I had planned on riding my bike the 5 miles to the bigger town to go to market and visit my teammate, Caroline, who works with a women’s shea butter organization there.
“You can’t Shaka because I’m riding my bike there.”
“That’s ok, I’ll run.”
“It’s really far”
“I know.”
“I’ll tell you what Shaka, let’s run to the market together right now.” I thought he could probably handle a 10 mile run, and then I could stop at Caroline’s house and make plans for the rest of the day. Shaka agreed, but then affirmed that he was going to come with me when I returned on my bike. He was basically telling me he wanted to put in a 20 mile day, but I figured that after the first trip to Dio, he’d be hot and tired enough to let me go on my own.
On the way over, Shaka told me he wanted to go to America with me to run and go to school. God, how much do I want to take you, I thought. And I gave my typical answer, “If you want to come to America, you have to learn English.” But here, I had the opportunity to teach. It took us 5 miles, but he got down “Hello my name is Shaka, how are you?” Returning to Dombilia, I think Shaka got a bit tired at mile 9- not as tired as me though, and I finally saw that this kid could certaintly outrun me when he comes to terms with his own speed. I washed, ate, and loaded my bike to return to the market. Slowly starting down the road, I noticed there he was, this skinny little 11 year old with cavities blackening his excited smile, following me. I stopped and put my hand on his shoulder: “Shaka- you really want to run to Dio again?”
“Yes.”
“You think you can?”
“Yes.” And you know what- I thought he could too.
“Alright, but if you get thristy, you tell me, because I have water in my bag.”
We stopped only once for water, and he was slowing down a bit as we pulled into the town the second time. I gave him some water and bought him some peanuts, but he needed no recovery. He was content and ready to help me do my shopping.
Caroline and I traversed the market- I didn’t buy as much as I want for fear of looking like Mrs. Moneybags in front of my little brother, who asked me to buy him clothes and stopped to gaze at the athletic shoes. It broke my heart to tell him I couldn’t buy him things right now, because then I would have to buy things for everyone. I can’t be playing favorites, but in truth, I definitely have a favorite.
Shaka is human- he was too tired to run back in the blazing sun of the afternoon, so he hopped on the back of my bike. I ran 12 miles today. This little 11year old ran 15. What am I going to do with him?
I've found a running prodigy- Shaka- my 11 year old younger host brother- is absolutely amazing. Yesterday, I was running to the butiki (small shop) and he and my other two younger brothers came along. Do you think we can run all the way to the butiki? It was about a half a mile- they all did it with ease- and for Shaka, I didn't have to slow my normal pace.
Do you think we can run all the way home? Piece of cake. No we're not tired. No we're not done. We ended up running about 4 miles and he hardly broke sweat. The two younger ones actually did a pretty good job for their age as well.
I ahead already ran n the morning, but thought I would encourage the boys to do another 3ish for me. Afterwords, we went to the soccer field to do sprints. Shaka's got speed too! He never fell a step behind me- though I think he probably could have out sprinted me too, but he was either being polite or he does not yet realize his own speek because he barely lost his breath. We returned to the house, stretched, and I gave them some peanuts and water. Good workout boys.
"Aminata, let's go"- says Shaka
"Where?"
"Running."
He hadn't had enough- we did three more miles- passed by his girlfriend's house as always- and paused to do some pushups and lunges before returning back If it wasn't getting dark and we weren't eating soon, he would have kept going.
I'm going to the maket with you Saturday, he says. It's about 4 or 5 miles away. But I'm riding my bike there. He sayd "no problem, "I will run." As much as I want to see this boy run 10 miles, I'm going to spend the day there hanging out with my teammate Caroline, so I'd be better off without compan. I'm sure though, we'll be running a lot together. I wonder if there's any opprotunities for him to pursue his talents. If only I could find him a place to shine- I have fantasizes about trainning him for stardom. The only time he slows down is during the real rocky parts of the road- he has no shoes.
9=20
The next morning I woke up before my brothers and decided to run a few miles before they joined me. After about 2 miles, I met Shaka on the road. “Aminata, I’m coming to the market in Dio with you today.” I had planned on riding my bike the 5 miles to the bigger town to go to market and visit my teammate, Caroline, who works with a women’s shea butter organization there.
“You can’t Shaka because I’m riding my bike there.”
“That’s ok, I’ll run.”
“It’s really far”
“I know.”
“I’ll tell you what Shaka, let’s run to the market together right now.” I thought he could probably handle a 10 mile run, and then I could stop at Caroline’s house and make plans for the rest of the day. Shaka agreed, but then affirmed that he was going to come with me when I returned on my bike. He was basically telling me he wanted to put in a 20 mile day, but I figured that after the first trip to Dio, he’d be hot and tired enough to let me go on my own.
On the way over, Shaka told me he wanted to go to America with me to run and go to school. God, how much do I want to take you, I thought. And I gave my typical answer, “If you want to come to America, you have to learn English.” But here, I had the opportunity to teach. It took us 5 miles, but he got down “Hello my name is Shaka, how are you?” Returning to Dombilia, I think Shaka got a bit tired at mile 9- not as tired as me though, and I finally saw that this kid could certaintly outrun me when he comes to terms with his own speed. I washed, ate, and loaded my bike to return to the market. Slowly starting down the road, I noticed there he was, this skinny little 11 year old with cavities blackening his excited smile, following me. I stopped and put my hand on his shoulder: “Shaka- you really want to run to Dio again?”
“Yes.”
“You think you can?”
“Yes.” And you know what- I thought he could too.
“Alright, but if you get thristy, you tell me, because I have water in my bag.”
We stopped only once for water, and he was slowing down a bit as we pulled into the town the second time. I gave him some water and bought him some peanuts, but he needed no recovery. He was content and ready to help me do my shopping.
Caroline and I traversed the market- I didn’t buy as much as I want for fear of looking like Mrs. Moneybags in front of my little brother, who asked me to buy him clothes and stopped to gaze at the athletic shoes. It broke my heart to tell him I couldn’t buy him things right now, because then I would have to buy things for everyone. I can’t be playing favorites, but in truth, I definitely have a favorite.
Shaka is human- he was too tired to run back in the blazing sun of the afternoon, so he hopped on the back of my bike. I ran 12 miles today. This little 11year old ran 15. What am I going to do with him?
My Neighbors
9-24
There's a little girl who is terrified to even look at me. About 5 years old, she comes around my compound on her mother's back, squinting her eyes as hard as she can. The other day, she was sitting on the bench outside of my house with my host sisters. When I came out, she imedimmately thre her hands to her eyes and ran away, much to the amusement of my host sisters.
9-18
Today, two women came and one thrusted her baby at me and wanted me to breast feed it. Women in the village are constantly breast feeding- wheather its their own cild or someone else's- its just a community resouce- she almost yanked my breast out of my bra to feed it. "No, no- I can't do it."
"Why?"
"They're... too small" I said.
"No they're not, they're big!" Oh well thank you, but really. I explained to her that I can't breast feed because I've never had children. This is unbelievable to them. I'm not married. Even more autonishing. Then te game begins- who are you going to marry? My mother is convinced it is going to be the head nurse at the health center, even though he already has a wife, I could be the second. And apparently, word got around that I was staying for five years instead of two. Plenty of time to get married. And once I do, I'll have to stay at least that long.
There's a little girl who is terrified to even look at me. About 5 years old, she comes around my compound on her mother's back, squinting her eyes as hard as she can. The other day, she was sitting on the bench outside of my house with my host sisters. When I came out, she imedimmately thre her hands to her eyes and ran away, much to the amusement of my host sisters.
9-18
Today, two women came and one thrusted her baby at me and wanted me to breast feed it. Women in the village are constantly breast feeding- wheather its their own cild or someone else's- its just a community resouce- she almost yanked my breast out of my bra to feed it. "No, no- I can't do it."
"Why?"
"They're... too small" I said.
"No they're not, they're big!" Oh well thank you, but really. I explained to her that I can't breast feed because I've never had children. This is unbelievable to them. I'm not married. Even more autonishing. Then te game begins- who are you going to marry? My mother is convinced it is going to be the head nurse at the health center, even though he already has a wife, I could be the second. And apparently, word got around that I was staying for five years instead of two. Plenty of time to get married. And once I do, I'll have to stay at least that long.
Irene
9-20
There is something different about Irene. Unlike many of the other women I've encountered, she does not wear a sunken face with the wrinkled of oppression. Instead, her cheek bones are stong and full, like an opera singer. She has a sort of husky rasp to her voice that countermines the disintingrating whispers of her patients. Her presence commends respect and when she puts on her white couat, tilts her reading glasses, and looks someone in the eye, she is all buisness. With her fully rooted stance, I sometimes forget she is Malian until she takes her youngest off her back to breast feel while filling out her paperwork. A divorceed mother of 7, leading a successful career, and still bearing the biggest rosiest cheeks I've seen on a Malin. Well that, that's a real woman.
There is something different about Irene. Unlike many of the other women I've encountered, she does not wear a sunken face with the wrinkled of oppression. Instead, her cheek bones are stong and full, like an opera singer. She has a sort of husky rasp to her voice that countermines the disintingrating whispers of her patients. Her presence commends respect and when she puts on her white couat, tilts her reading glasses, and looks someone in the eye, she is all buisness. With her fully rooted stance, I sometimes forget she is Malian until she takes her youngest off her back to breast feel while filling out her paperwork. A divorceed mother of 7, leading a successful career, and still bearing the biggest rosiest cheeks I've seen on a Malin. Well that, that's a real woman.
Vaccinations in the Brush
Today, I went with Irene and the vaccinator, Bakary, to a neighboring village to register and vaccinate the newborn babies. I decided that I would not be overly ambitious to do any sort of education animation this first time around, so I tagged along just to observe. Only 10k away, I thought the bike ride would not be difficult- but in the blaring sun, over rocks, crevices, hills and rivers, I struggled to keep up with Irene and Bakary, who were leading the way on a motorcycle. The landscape however, was breathtaking. Down here in the farming valleys, I suppose that this is the most beautiful time of year. At the end of the rainy season, everything is green, and I have trouble imagining the red-dust covered Africa that has been repeatedly described to me.
The vaccinations at the small maternity went quickly. Though we were practically finished before noon, a harsh and windy storm rolled into the valley. I thought the rainy season was over, but this was one of the biggest storms I had ever seen. So we went inside the maternity to wait it out. For hours upon hours I sat inside the slowly flooding small maternity. I’m truly in the middle of nowhere. With no signs of letting up, I watched as the rains turned the dirt roads into rivers, glanced at my bicycle, and seriously questioned if I was going to be able to make it back to Dombila that day.
I’ve learned though, in situations such as this, worrying is completely useless. So, with nothing much else to do, I took a nap, and chatted with the others in the maternity.
Irene is different
I was hanging out in a room with two men- a middle aged, attentive and engergic one, and an older Muslim, wrapped in blue robes and a turban. The middle-aged man asked me how I was going to vote in Novemeber. I’ve been asked that question before, and by now I know that it is always a polite opening to segway into a conversation about Barak Obama. Once I admitted that I was voting for him, we had a fantastic conversation about politics and world issues. The quiet Muslim sitting in the corner said nothing for a while until finally he looks at me and asks: “Are there cows in America?”
I almost burst out laughing. Yes, there are cows in America. A huge smile took over his face. “Oh wonderful! I am a cow herder. I love cows.” Good Lord, I thought, where the heck am I right now?
The rain finally let up, but the roads were still flooded. We were able to slowly ride back to Dombilia, and I returned covered in mud. I got ready for my run with Shaka, but my host mother said we shouldn’t go. “It’s too wet out there- you can run tomorrow morning.” Something my mom at home would have said. I wasn’t going to argue though, I had certainly had my workout that day.
The vaccinations at the small maternity went quickly. Though we were practically finished before noon, a harsh and windy storm rolled into the valley. I thought the rainy season was over, but this was one of the biggest storms I had ever seen. So we went inside the maternity to wait it out. For hours upon hours I sat inside the slowly flooding small maternity. I’m truly in the middle of nowhere. With no signs of letting up, I watched as the rains turned the dirt roads into rivers, glanced at my bicycle, and seriously questioned if I was going to be able to make it back to Dombila that day.
I’ve learned though, in situations such as this, worrying is completely useless. So, with nothing much else to do, I took a nap, and chatted with the others in the maternity.
Irene is different
I was hanging out in a room with two men- a middle aged, attentive and engergic one, and an older Muslim, wrapped in blue robes and a turban. The middle-aged man asked me how I was going to vote in Novemeber. I’ve been asked that question before, and by now I know that it is always a polite opening to segway into a conversation about Barak Obama. Once I admitted that I was voting for him, we had a fantastic conversation about politics and world issues. The quiet Muslim sitting in the corner said nothing for a while until finally he looks at me and asks: “Are there cows in America?”
I almost burst out laughing. Yes, there are cows in America. A huge smile took over his face. “Oh wonderful! I am a cow herder. I love cows.” Good Lord, I thought, where the heck am I right now?
The rain finally let up, but the roads were still flooded. We were able to slowly ride back to Dombilia, and I returned covered in mud. I got ready for my run with Shaka, but my host mother said we shouldn’t go. “It’s too wet out there- you can run tomorrow morning.” Something my mom at home would have said. I wasn’t going to argue though, I had certainly had my workout that day.
Chapel of Dombila
I just came back from church. I kept hearing that there was a church in Dombila, but from what I gathered, it was a very small and informal Sunday gathering. Alighn with my expectations, I was lead to a family compound, and sat on a bench with two young Christian men- Raymond and Noelle. Another came over to talk and shared his Bambara mistellet with me. With a nostalgic smile, I looked over the familiar Our Father, Hail Mary and Apostle’s creed in this new language I was learning. So this is African Christian church- we sit and discuss the Word together in a family compound. Pretty cool.
But my expectations were tremendously exceeded when a boy started to ring the Sunday morning bell. “Let’s go.” the boys said to me. “Where?” I was a bit confused. “To the chapel.”
Just around the corner was a small mud building. I step inside- and with two rows of mud pews at my side, I notice the cruxifix hanging humbly in the front. Yet simple as it was, it drew tremendous reverence from the people entering. There is a small alter with two candles burning on each side. To my left- a calendar from last year- stuck on December with a midevil drawing of the Holy Mother and Baby Jesus sat below chipped and chewed statue of Mary. I am completely swept away. I feel so at home among these things, yet so far away at the same time. I hadn’t realized how much I missed this Sunday-morning feeling until it returned to me. If my white skin wasn’t enough to make me stick out among a dozen other people, it might have been the fact that I had to regularly wipe the tears from my face.
We proceeded with the familiar Catholic mass. I understood enough to identify the parts of the mass and which gospel we were listening to. And like many other Sundays growing up, my mind wandered during the homily to other things, my hands went to others as we said the “Our Father”- I know what this is about here. I am a part of this. As we offered our prayers, it was only the lump in my throat that held me back from praying for you all in front of the congregation. I have said I have prayed for you before, but today- I fully and completely sent my entire heart to you all. And as much as I wanted to stay after church and get to know my Christian brothers and sisters with the crosses around their necks, to talk to the cantor about the Malian Christian music, to ask for a Bambara bible so I could learn the prayers, I couldn’t bring myself to do any of these things. I walked back to my hut, emptied the rest of my tears in my pillow, and prayed for all of the things that I was too choked up to let my mind penetrate on them inside the chapel.
But my expectations were tremendously exceeded when a boy started to ring the Sunday morning bell. “Let’s go.” the boys said to me. “Where?” I was a bit confused. “To the chapel.”
Just around the corner was a small mud building. I step inside- and with two rows of mud pews at my side, I notice the cruxifix hanging humbly in the front. Yet simple as it was, it drew tremendous reverence from the people entering. There is a small alter with two candles burning on each side. To my left- a calendar from last year- stuck on December with a midevil drawing of the Holy Mother and Baby Jesus sat below chipped and chewed statue of Mary. I am completely swept away. I feel so at home among these things, yet so far away at the same time. I hadn’t realized how much I missed this Sunday-morning feeling until it returned to me. If my white skin wasn’t enough to make me stick out among a dozen other people, it might have been the fact that I had to regularly wipe the tears from my face.
We proceeded with the familiar Catholic mass. I understood enough to identify the parts of the mass and which gospel we were listening to. And like many other Sundays growing up, my mind wandered during the homily to other things, my hands went to others as we said the “Our Father”- I know what this is about here. I am a part of this. As we offered our prayers, it was only the lump in my throat that held me back from praying for you all in front of the congregation. I have said I have prayed for you before, but today- I fully and completely sent my entire heart to you all. And as much as I wanted to stay after church and get to know my Christian brothers and sisters with the crosses around their necks, to talk to the cantor about the Malian Christian music, to ask for a Bambara bible so I could learn the prayers, I couldn’t bring myself to do any of these things. I walked back to my hut, emptied the rest of my tears in my pillow, and prayed for all of the things that I was too choked up to let my mind penetrate on them inside the chapel.
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