Day 4

I sit along with a boy and a girl. Everyone else is praying, but we three left the room because we think we know how to pray, but we haven't a clue where our prayers go, and so for now we pray to a different 'god'.

He is studying something which bores him. I do not have to presume, he says so himself. But he wants to use it to enable him to do what he wants to do, to help people. I hope he does.

Last night I went to the orphanage. We walked the moonlit mile down the road and met the 'orphans'. They are all boys. Not all of their parents have died, though they may as well have.

One is 7 years old. One is 19, and barely reaches my shoulders. He is still a boy, though he has not the time of youth ahead of him as we all did. One is dying. One is studying to become a doctor, and though he has been offered scholarships the world over he has returned home to visit his people. One is always smiling, another never does. One is finishing school, planning his future successes. One wants to make a difference someday, another just wants to look after his family back home.

And this one man is saving one child, who will grow to be the best surgeon in his country and remember that man who saved his life. And he will come back to his country, and save countless more lives. One man will change thousands of lives by starting with one.

One man is close to breaking point, but he is hanging on.

When we returned, I jumped into the pool. I dunked my head underwater and as my jeans clung to me, waterlogged and heavy, I screamed underwater to open up the faucet of my saturated mind. I let out the crowded thought in a stream of consciousness, finding comfort in the muffled sounds of my inability to understand.

And then there was you. You, whose accent I teased. You, the only person in whom I could bear it. You, in-your-face, and seemingly attacking but never with ill intent. You, with the strong-mindedness that clashed only because of my own. You with the opinions and the passions I love and share. You, who has so many stories to tell. You, the foreigner, who knew this place better than us all.

We are all friends in this place. We will hold hands and link arms and bend backs to help one another. We will carry together, we will cry about the load and laugh about our crying. We will wish there were more of us.

Last night, I slept.

Change, as it turns out, is good.