I am awake when I should be sleeping. The streets in Kigali are in mid-morning bustle, and so am I. I love that space between sleep and wakefulness when the mind wanders at will to strange and wonderful places that under the harness of daylight it might not go. In truth, I’m trying to prolong this time zone for one more day since I need to head to the airport at 4 am tomorrow, and it will be much easier if I do not make the shift quite yet.
My mind winds around ripe purple passion fruit...maracuja...maracuja of the soul, juicy and gritty.
It laughs in delight over a translator looking at picture of a protest over the price of tomatoes at McDonalds and asking McWhat? (What a comfort to know that there are still people in the world who do not know what McDonalds is!)
So much snow has disrupted my sense of groundedness. I want to put my feet on the earth and feel my soles (and my soul) make contact. I want to feel that invisible pull from the top of my head, through my body, down each leg, and through my feet that connects me with the ground.