I posted some pictures today from my trip. Much as I love looking at photos, I'm a negligent photographer when I'm having fun, but these turned out okay.
It's hard to write much about this trip yet. I'm still in shock, a little. Talking--writing about it--feels like spoiling something. I need to sit with the pleasure of knowing where I went, what I felt, who I met, what I did and ate and smelled.
Oh, and apologize for snoring, apparently.
Anyway, I've been looking for a photo that represents the trip. This one is from Independence Day in Kaoma, Zambia. Our group spent the day in town at a community celebration--a boring political speech at the football pitch (yes, District Commissioner, tell us more about the history of maize agriculture, please!), followed by dancers, a karate demonstration, then football. Four of us stayed later than the rest, reluctant to leave. We goofed around with kids we'd met at the Cheshire Care Center a few days earlier, watched men play gourd xylophones and women in striped t-shirts dance, ducked out of the way when the football strayed and soared our way.
At sunset we started the hot walk back into town, to Auntie Omega's pub for a cold drink and a taxicab. We looked down at our feet and had to laugh. A week ago we'd have been horrified at the state of our dirt-caked appendages, but knowing where we were in the world just then, it felt about right.