I love this spot where the sky meets the sea. It is our playground. It is my heaven. Every day, rain or shine, bundled against cold, or shedding against heat, this is where we come. Living all over the world is so hard sometimes, but this is why we do it. Had Uganda not been so difficult we would have
Uganda was familiar yet so much had changed. It still remains running in my blood, when I look at my daughter I am there, she wraps the county around me so I can still smell it and feel it, even long for it. I see in her the people I knew for 4 years, the people on the street, in
Rain. Days and nights of wet, thunder, fallen tree limbs. I don’t remember the rains being so long, so violent. Beautiful. Everything is green, lush, fed. Our floors are littered with tiny footprints of mud. Red rivers flow down our sloped front yard. It just keeps raining.
To the office of the security company that guards my home: Dear sirs, I want to thank you for the men and women you have sent to keep me and my family safe, and for your non-stop support of my husband, and I, and our children. From that first day I have felt as light as air, basking in the
What do you see when you see us? What do you see when you see someone? We make a narrative. Create a life. Fill in lines to a story we write, from our perspective, from our vantage point, clothing the person, the persons in our garments, to fit our own story of how life works. Heard too many times in
‘You can’t step into the same river twice,’ they say, they taunt, they warn. It may look the same; the water may feel the same, caressing skin between toes. The smell might even evoke a long ago memory that feels so refreshing you are tempted to submerge yourself fully, try to grab a current, ride it to your past to
I love how Italians eat lunch. The middle of the day is not just a stop to refuel, to grab something on the go, to get to the next point, it is literally in the Italian language a “pause.” You must pause, stop completely, rest. It was the same in Uganda. Day after day I would marvel at the locals
How is it my heart still beats red? Whispering me back. Settled into ancient passion, yes. But, the place my skin crawled with life is haunting me.