we walked/rain: hide

i spent weeks trying to find a mysterious man named komol isaach.

i found him; he remained mysterious. my sister created a brilliant charcoal of him.

i met him in the back of a land cruiser. he was working on a road construction project (lobalangit-kaceri)

we rode back to lobalangit together. he wanted another day or two before he would come to karenga to work with me.

he came; i was happy, and wrote one of my most successful blog posts yet.

keinana/ðɛke nanuloŋorokɛt/auɠɛðɛgɛ kʷaɟaðak mutʊ nazan dʷaqare

then he was gone. i had a trip to timu forest scheduled, where i would relax with terrill and amber schrock. i had little to do until then (except occasionally to distract myself with ketebo when i should have distracted myself with karamojong/adeuŋolenan izi ŋolekru).

so we walked/cause you walked/though i won't probably get very far. south along the front of the nyangea mountains.

those who suddenly turn around and start retracing those steps which had just been taken frighten the children who follow too closely.

ants! they march. (i'm allergic). we pick cotton in uganda. perhaps it will rain. this is better than sitting in the mission/stale air replaced with fresh/why was this not a daily occurrence? to read my blog, all i did in uganda was walk. all i do since returning is complain that i didn't walk more.

i should run more.

in any case, we walked. and it was nice.









i don't know what nyang'i/dodos/karamojong/ketebo folks would do if they knew how much orchids like this one that i found growing in a field sell for in america.









it rained when i walked through karenga. a quarter mile from the mission, i would take shelter in a dive bar/karenga style. cameras aren't subtle/i got the photo i wanted.



Nederland
i’m only thinking
about a small window
as i hear the sound of my tea
splashing on the floor
(and my toes are wet now).

Rain that falls here
(that doesn’t tricklve through my hair
and into my skull)
will end up in the Atlantic
(where you were)
but the rain over there
(i tell myself that i can see it!)
will end up in the Pacfic
(where you are).

But i can’t see either
(the Atlantic or the Pacific)
from here.
From here,
through this small window
(my toes are still wet),
i can just see a few trees.

Trees are ok.
(i actually rather like them),
but for me to dare to throw myself
onto the mercy of that great divide
i think i might need to see a little more.

So stay, calm window—
linger a while
i fear you’ll be too quick to close
(or i too slow to act).