One month left for her, plus two weeks in the capitol for him. While she runs around the States, preparing to fly out to
In the meantime, her libraries are coming along beautifully. More books just came in; more shelves are being built, and the schools are starting to really look at what has been accomplished. The funny thing about some of these projects is that we have a vision of how it will turn out, but it’s a vision that is entirely uncommunicable to locals. We sell them on the idea, or they give us an idea that we run with, and we get support and approval at every stage based chiefly on their faith in us. If you’ve ever only seen two storybooks in your entire life, and a library is a place where old school textbooks go to die, how can you envision thousands upon thousands of books – all ready for you to take home, one per week, for the next twelve years of your school?
The first and second grade students at the school now live in a world that their older siblings and parents can’t even fathom: A world where books have always been taken for granted. A child that is read to regularly when young experiences 32 million words in a period of 5 years. How much richer is that world than one with no words to read; no stories to understand; no characters to empathize with; no triumphs but your own, no failures to survive but those impacting your immediate life? Suffice it to say, the woman I'm with is pretty amazing, notwitstanding her terrible taste in men.
True Story #4: Christmas Eve
The music, as always, slammed across the road like a 20-car pileup. The difference this time was that, with one wall of massive speakers only thirty feet away from the next, which was only thirty feet downwind of the one beyond that, and each and all playing different music, the pileup had no discernible form. Soca, Hindu wedding music, and the latest hip-hop anthems from overseas merged together into a pounding, throbbing presence that would not be ignored. Hours had gone by, and it was still the only thing either of the two could think about. How did the people here listen to this and not go deaf? And how were they talking in such low tones right now?
The table in front of them was covered with beer bottles. No room for hands to rest or food to sit; any excited hand gestures would surely cause a cataclysm. The woman was having a good time, talking with the locals around the table who as always were drawn to the two like flies to white rice. The man was alright, although his arm still ached from sawing through the cow leg earlier in the day: Two hours of his life given over to a Sisyphean task. His jaw still ached from trying to chew the cow leg. Also, the men kept shoving bottles of beer at him faster than he could drink them. How did the men here drink so fast and talk so much at the same time? The crowd of glass in front of him included three bottles, still full, condensation flowing freely down the sides in the 80-degree heat.
At least it was a cool night.
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