Dirt

i could hardly have taken fewer pictures in Moroto.

Moroto, land of dust and smoke.

'Choqol', i heard. he didn't speak much English.

'Is choqol for eating?'

only a mzungu would eat charcoal, i'm sure he thought.

our guide--seven or eight years old.

a short hike up Lia Valley, the most beautiful experience of the summer.

my camera batteries were dead. it was fitting.

Moroto, land of dust and smoke.

Lia Valley, where even 30 or 40 years ago you could find folks who remembered the So language.

aisa gao kaabong eatuk. gaonokolog.

it's a long bus ride from mbale to moroto; mbale sunrise, lake kyoga (or bisina, i suppose) at noon, and the world darkens as you wind between iriri and napak.

my stomach sank between iriri and napak. looming heights transcend today/this as well shall pass/etc.

karamoja.

moroto.

losike.

ellis.



















we want to be people
dirty romantics
and loved
dirt romance
squeezed
time money hope
we're people
you said people
sand and coconut flesh and a few
drops of blood
we want to be people
you said soon
soon said
soon done came
they came and
we were glad
we want
dirt romantics
and to be people
loved
words mass time
we're people
cautious, still, and young
still young
so old