So I've been back in the States for a week. My trip already feels like ages ago. I am now an official resident of Chicago and orientation for AVODAH is well underway. It's good to be back in the States. This is where my life is. It's where most of my identities formed. It's great to be reunited with my family and friends here.
Of course, it was hard to leave Senegal. I have created a life for myself over there and going back seemed to confirm all that I started when I was there in 2006-2007. I know people and people know me. I have friends and family, special places, traditions and memories. I have a sense of belonging. I can live there. I can communicate. I can negotiate the transit system, travel throughout the country, get food, make purchases. I am proud of the life I've created for myself and now the question remains how will I continue to engage that life and that which I lead here. I am confident that Senegal is a place to which I will continue to return for the rest of my life. I have too many connections and relationships with people and the place. And that's what my friends and family told me there too, as I cried when saying goodbye, "Annah, you'll be back. We know you'll come back."
It was shocking to come back to the States. I'd forgotten how diverse our country really is. I bragged to my friends in Senegal that when I went home I'd finally be able to understand everything being said around me. But of course, as soon I arrived here I found myself surrounded by people chatting away in other languages. Everyone that greeted me in the airport spoke with an accent. In Senegal, almost everyone is black, but on the train and in the airport I saw people of every shade. I forget how diverse the US is, or rather, I suppose, I take it for granted. But coming home always reminds me what a melting pot we are truly are.
So my journey has come to an end. No more French and Wolof. No more rooftop and courtyard dance parties into the early morning hours. No more daily calls to prayer. No more ceeb_u jenn. No more daily encounters with my Senegalese friends and family. As I said last time I left, I hope to see them again sooner rather than later. I do think I'd like to live and work there some day. Maybe next year. Or maybe I'll get to visit en route to a Peace Corps assignment. Yallah rekk mo xaam. God only knows. Fortunately, technology has made the distance much shorter as I am able to keep in touch via phones and the internet. But now I am in Chicago and excited about it. I'm excited to pursue my interests and get involved in my new city. I can't wait to build my new community here.
I am extremely grateful for the opportunity I had to travel for the past 6 weeks. I was faced with many harsh realities and experienced countless inspiring moments. I am grateful to those who directly or indirectly taught me many new lessons. And I am grateful, as always, to all my friends and families in Senegal who welcomed me back with open arms. It's hard to know where to go from here ... how to contribute to the advancement of the incredible projects we saw in Rwanda and Uganda while maintaining my connection with and investment in Senegal, not to mention the movements that are important to me here in the States. I suppose only time will tell.
And so as one journey ends, I am fortunate enough to embark on the next. Here goes!
(Thank you to those of you that took the time to read my blog. It is an honor to be able to share these experiences with you. You can follow my year in Chicago at: www.oyitsvindy.blogspot.com)
(Read on for a final painting of Dakar.)
Friday, August 29, 2008
An Image of Dakar
Earlier I began a motif of painting an image of Dakar, at least I think I did. But I never fulfilled that promise and now I would like to take a moment to try and share with you just a few of the sensory experiences I had while I was there.
You are walking down a street, random piles of sand and limestone clutter the sidewalk. A few sheep bleat from beneath the tree to which they are tied. Potholes break up the concrete. Brilliant bougainvillea flowers and vines topple over concrete walls and fences. Small shops (boutiques) sell everything you need and there is at least one per block. Occasional stretches of road are flooded with sewage and the stench is strong. Passing houses, the alluring scent of thiouri (a Senegalese woman's incense) wafts out of open windows. Some men are marked by the distinct smell of body odor from a hard day's work in the strong Senegalese sun. A woman's presence lingers with her potent perfume trailing in her path. Beautifully decorated blue and yellow car rapides hurtle down the main thoroughfares with apprentis soliciting clients from their perch at the open back door of the vehicle. Windows reveal women's heads wrapped in beautiful printed fabric with tops and skirts to match. Blue plumes of smoke escape exhaust pipes as automobiles accelerate. Men and women, boys and girls, adults and children clad themselves in traditional boubous, modern Western apparel, or dirty, tattered, old work clothes. Child beggars appeal to you on the street for money or food. The informal economy is thriving with women smelling small food items and men lining the streets selling a random assortment of goods. Time is marked by the five calls to prayer projected from the local minaret. The faint call from more distant mosques echoes that in your own community, with each muezzin adding his own personal touch. Children are heard repeating their Koranic verses. Brotherhoods gather in parks to chant melodic prayers into the early morning hours. Other children come bounding around the corner, sometimes with a soccer ball. Children naturally seem to group themselves by size. There is no direct parental supervision. But there are always plenty of people sitting outside watching the neighborhood's activities. Men brew their attaya (tea) over charcoal fires in the shade. Power outages plague the city and the country, cutting neighborhoods off for hours at a time. Music drifts out of stores, houses, parks, radios, everywhere. People dance. The ocean laps at its shores. Neighbors, friends and acquaintances stop to greet one another and shake hands. The community is strong.
In a nutshell, that is the Dakar I know and love. I hope one day you will see it for yourself.
You are walking down a street, random piles of sand and limestone clutter the sidewalk. A few sheep bleat from beneath the tree to which they are tied. Potholes break up the concrete. Brilliant bougainvillea flowers and vines topple over concrete walls and fences. Small shops (boutiques) sell everything you need and there is at least one per block. Occasional stretches of road are flooded with sewage and the stench is strong. Passing houses, the alluring scent of thiouri (a Senegalese woman's incense) wafts out of open windows. Some men are marked by the distinct smell of body odor from a hard day's work in the strong Senegalese sun. A woman's presence lingers with her potent perfume trailing in her path. Beautifully decorated blue and yellow car rapides hurtle down the main thoroughfares with apprentis soliciting clients from their perch at the open back door of the vehicle. Windows reveal women's heads wrapped in beautiful printed fabric with tops and skirts to match. Blue plumes of smoke escape exhaust pipes as automobiles accelerate. Men and women, boys and girls, adults and children clad themselves in traditional boubous, modern Western apparel, or dirty, tattered, old work clothes. Child beggars appeal to you on the street for money or food. The informal economy is thriving with women smelling small food items and men lining the streets selling a random assortment of goods. Time is marked by the five calls to prayer projected from the local minaret. The faint call from more distant mosques echoes that in your own community, with each muezzin adding his own personal touch. Children are heard repeating their Koranic verses. Brotherhoods gather in parks to chant melodic prayers into the early morning hours. Other children come bounding around the corner, sometimes with a soccer ball. Children naturally seem to group themselves by size. There is no direct parental supervision. But there are always plenty of people sitting outside watching the neighborhood's activities. Men brew their attaya (tea) over charcoal fires in the shade. Power outages plague the city and the country, cutting neighborhoods off for hours at a time. Music drifts out of stores, houses, parks, radios, everywhere. People dance. The ocean laps at its shores. Neighbors, friends and acquaintances stop to greet one another and shake hands. The community is strong.
In a nutshell, that is the Dakar I know and love. I hope one day you will see it for yourself.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Mbour and Mbam -- Another adventure
After my week in Mbam, I returned to Dakar. I filled my days visiting friends and former colleagues, doing laundy, and relaxing.
However, I wasn't able to stay in Dakar long before my love for the village lifestyle pulled me back. In true Hannah-fashion, I tried to pack way too much into a short amount of time. (With reference to my father, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.) A family friend of ours has family in Mbour, a resort town 1.5 hours out of Dakar popular amongst tourists for its beautiful beaches. I'd never been and decided this was the time. August 15 is a big holiday in Senegal. It celebrates Mary's ascension, I think. Anyway, one town, Joal-Fadiouth (a Catholic stronghold) is known for its celebration. Beach parties by day and club parties by night. I was told this was a holiday I shouldn't miss. But I also intended to try and get back to Mbam one last time. They also had a charged program for the holiday.
Wednesday night, I decided I would go to Mbour in the morning, spend the day at the beach and then catch the bus to Mbam when it passed through the town at 3:30pm. There I would spend the night and then catch transit on the afternoon of the 15th to Joal. But of course, nothing ever goes quite as planned. I got a late start from Dakar on Thursday morning and the traffic was terrible. To make matters worse my station wagon got in a small accident when it scraped against a black car leaving a large white stripe on the side. We all got out of the car and all the passengers made the conversation between the two drivers their business as well. We worsened the traffic conditions as the two cars took up 1.5 lanes, creating a bottle neck effect around the accident. Finally we were on the road again and I arrived in Mbour at 1pm. But I couldn't go straight to the beach. I ate lunch with the family and then had just enough time to go see the beach before I needed to leave to catch the bus. But when I called the driver, he told me it would be impossible for me to have a spot on the bus. It was packed full (some people stood for the 6 hour drive) because of the holiday.
So I spent the night in Mbour longing to be in Mbam. Many of my friends had returned to the village for the holiday and I was sad not to be with them. The next morning I decided that my time would be better spent in Mbam in a place and with people that I know and love, rather than at a huge party. The other American, Cait, living at the house in Dakar came to join me in Mbour and from there we caught a minibus to a town called Fatick. From there we hired a cab to take us to the ferry. This stretch of the road is terrible -- some stretches paved, others not, and the largest potholes I've ever seen. We missed the ferry, but then chipped in to hire a special ferry. The man with the car took us the rest of the way to Mbam. It's not easy getting there without the daily bus.
The family was surprised and delighted to see us. I'd left it with my mother the day before that I would not be able to make it back before leaving Dakar. I was really glad to be there again. Cait and I went straight to the beach. The river bank beach in Mbam is one of my favorite places in the world. It is calm, open, serene and beautiful. We sought refuge from the rain in a fishing village on our walk back.
After outdoor showers, we had a delicious dinner at the house and then enjoyed 3 rounds of attaya (tea). Finally, around 11:30pm, we went with the older kids at the house to the traditional Serere music performance. It includes guitars, drums, gourds and singing. The songs start slow and eventually become very fast. People moved by the music run into the center of circle of spectators and dance. Men and women respond to one another in their dance moves. Women will run out and put their headscarf around the best dancer in the circle. Cait and I gave the dance a try two times. It's certainly not easy, but it's fun.
The next morning after 2 hours of sleep, we caught the bus back to Dakar. After a nap and lunch, Cait, Vince and I went to a hip-hop concert on a beach. A popular artist named Didier Awadi was performing. Friends, music, and the beach, a perfect combination. After dinner and another nap, Cait, Abdou, Malick, Vince, and I went to a soiree at a friend's house. We danced on his rooftop, lit by a full moon, until 6 in the morning. What's not to love about this place! As we walked home, older men also returned home, but from their morning prayers at the mosque.
It was a packed weekend. My plan didn't work at all as I'd hoped. I never got to see the celebration in Joal-Fadiouth, but next time I say. It was good to experience Mbour, and I was thrilled to be able to go back to Mbam one more time. I needed to get my fix before heading back to my American life.
(Continue reading the next post for a description of the week I spent in Mbam.)
However, I wasn't able to stay in Dakar long before my love for the village lifestyle pulled me back. In true Hannah-fashion, I tried to pack way too much into a short amount of time. (With reference to my father, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.) A family friend of ours has family in Mbour, a resort town 1.5 hours out of Dakar popular amongst tourists for its beautiful beaches. I'd never been and decided this was the time. August 15 is a big holiday in Senegal. It celebrates Mary's ascension, I think. Anyway, one town, Joal-Fadiouth (a Catholic stronghold) is known for its celebration. Beach parties by day and club parties by night. I was told this was a holiday I shouldn't miss. But I also intended to try and get back to Mbam one last time. They also had a charged program for the holiday.
Wednesday night, I decided I would go to Mbour in the morning, spend the day at the beach and then catch the bus to Mbam when it passed through the town at 3:30pm. There I would spend the night and then catch transit on the afternoon of the 15th to Joal. But of course, nothing ever goes quite as planned. I got a late start from Dakar on Thursday morning and the traffic was terrible. To make matters worse my station wagon got in a small accident when it scraped against a black car leaving a large white stripe on the side. We all got out of the car and all the passengers made the conversation between the two drivers their business as well. We worsened the traffic conditions as the two cars took up 1.5 lanes, creating a bottle neck effect around the accident. Finally we were on the road again and I arrived in Mbour at 1pm. But I couldn't go straight to the beach. I ate lunch with the family and then had just enough time to go see the beach before I needed to leave to catch the bus. But when I called the driver, he told me it would be impossible for me to have a spot on the bus. It was packed full (some people stood for the 6 hour drive) because of the holiday.
So I spent the night in Mbour longing to be in Mbam. Many of my friends had returned to the village for the holiday and I was sad not to be with them. The next morning I decided that my time would be better spent in Mbam in a place and with people that I know and love, rather than at a huge party. The other American, Cait, living at the house in Dakar came to join me in Mbour and from there we caught a minibus to a town called Fatick. From there we hired a cab to take us to the ferry. This stretch of the road is terrible -- some stretches paved, others not, and the largest potholes I've ever seen. We missed the ferry, but then chipped in to hire a special ferry. The man with the car took us the rest of the way to Mbam. It's not easy getting there without the daily bus.
The family was surprised and delighted to see us. I'd left it with my mother the day before that I would not be able to make it back before leaving Dakar. I was really glad to be there again. Cait and I went straight to the beach. The river bank beach in Mbam is one of my favorite places in the world. It is calm, open, serene and beautiful. We sought refuge from the rain in a fishing village on our walk back.
After outdoor showers, we had a delicious dinner at the house and then enjoyed 3 rounds of attaya (tea). Finally, around 11:30pm, we went with the older kids at the house to the traditional Serere music performance. It includes guitars, drums, gourds and singing. The songs start slow and eventually become very fast. People moved by the music run into the center of circle of spectators and dance. Men and women respond to one another in their dance moves. Women will run out and put their headscarf around the best dancer in the circle. Cait and I gave the dance a try two times. It's certainly not easy, but it's fun.
The next morning after 2 hours of sleep, we caught the bus back to Dakar. After a nap and lunch, Cait, Vince and I went to a hip-hop concert on a beach. A popular artist named Didier Awadi was performing. Friends, music, and the beach, a perfect combination. After dinner and another nap, Cait, Abdou, Malick, Vince, and I went to a soiree at a friend's house. We danced on his rooftop, lit by a full moon, until 6 in the morning. What's not to love about this place! As we walked home, older men also returned home, but from their morning prayers at the mosque.
It was a packed weekend. My plan didn't work at all as I'd hoped. I never got to see the celebration in Joal-Fadiouth, but next time I say. It was good to experience Mbour, and I was thrilled to be able to go back to Mbam one more time. I needed to get my fix before heading back to my American life.
(Continue reading the next post for a description of the week I spent in Mbam.)
Monday, August 11, 2008
A long week passing
(I started this entry on Aug. 11, but just finished it today. I've now been back in Dakar for over a week.)
And so I'm back in the big city. Back to the hustle and bustle of life in Dakar. Though it still runs at a much slower pace than back home, it can be shocking after a week in the calm village.
It was great to go back to Mbam, though I must admit, this time it was much harder to readjust to that lifestyle. Sadly, all of my younger siblings and friends have left for summer break, so it was a bit lonely. Though the house is never empty. This time there were 3 women my age, all of whom are married and either pregnant or caring for their first child. What different situations we're in. None of them speak French, so our conversations were quite limited.
It's nice going back to a place and seeing how it has changed. My mother has made improvements to the house including a new paint job and a new set of stairs leading to the front door. She has also completed two new huts in the compound. In addition to the horse she owns, they now have a donkey, 2 goats, the cat has 3 kittens and Binta (my mom) adopted three puppies. They are too cute! The sheep is now back with her family in Dakar.
My friend's compound next door has improved drastically. They now have a brick building with bedrooms and electricity. Before, their compound was not connected to the grid at all. Their water still comes from the well, though during the rainy season, at least at my house, all the drinking water is collected from the rainfall. Pretty incredible.
And speaking of the rainy season, I'd only previously seen the village during the dry season. We had two incredible thunderstorms and every day there were threatening clouds. And with the rainy season comes an incredible variety of insects. It was hard to get used to this. One night, I had trouble falling asleep because of the loud clap of insects wings, the noise they made when they landed on my mosquito net, and the sound of their footsteps on the plastic mat in my room. Ha! But such is life in the village, I suppose.
The rain obviously brings the milieu back to life. It was incredibly green. When I'd last left at the very end of the dry season, it was all brown. Now, the countryside stretches into the distance boasting lush green fields of millet plants and freshly sown peanut fields. The land is speckled with tall trees of all varieties, including palms, baobabs, and mango trees. Words can't do the scene justice.
I didn't do much of anything while I was there. There was a lot of sitting and reading, listening to the family chatter in Serer, a language I don't understand. I played with the younger girls that were at the house. Occasionaly, we were sent on errands by my mother.
One afternoon was spent buying millet and having it ground. We purchased it from a neighbor, then took it to the mill to have it ground. Much easier than the old fashion method with the person-sized mortar and pestle. While waiting for it to be ground, we and many other neighborhood children circled around a television in someone's house, and watched a Brazilian soap opera that's been translated into French. If there's one thing the Senegalese do religiously besides praying, it's watching their soap operas.
After dinner, we all sat outside, avoided the bugs that like to dive-bomb into your head, and chatted some more. Power outages are as frequent in the village as they are in Dakar. So often we'd be left to sit in the dark and listen to music on someone's cell phone until we were tired enough to go to sleep.
The village life is a different life. It's calmer and simpler. Men and women alike work very hard every day. Young men and boys go to the fields in the morning and evening. Women tend to all things domestic. But it's a social life. A neighbor will bring her rice over to our house to chat while she sorts out the small stones from the rice. Individual portions of the meals prepared at neighboring houses are brought and shared. Small children (3-years-old) will walk unaccompanied through the sand roads from one side of the village to the other to seek their friends. Men will spend hours sitting under trees or constructed shelters in public spaces passing the time. It's a far cry from the individualized lifestyle we have in the US. In the village, there are always people around. And that is what I love so much.
And so I'm back in the big city. Back to the hustle and bustle of life in Dakar. Though it still runs at a much slower pace than back home, it can be shocking after a week in the calm village.
It was great to go back to Mbam, though I must admit, this time it was much harder to readjust to that lifestyle. Sadly, all of my younger siblings and friends have left for summer break, so it was a bit lonely. Though the house is never empty. This time there were 3 women my age, all of whom are married and either pregnant or caring for their first child. What different situations we're in. None of them speak French, so our conversations were quite limited.
It's nice going back to a place and seeing how it has changed. My mother has made improvements to the house including a new paint job and a new set of stairs leading to the front door. She has also completed two new huts in the compound. In addition to the horse she owns, they now have a donkey, 2 goats, the cat has 3 kittens and Binta (my mom) adopted three puppies. They are too cute! The sheep is now back with her family in Dakar.
My friend's compound next door has improved drastically. They now have a brick building with bedrooms and electricity. Before, their compound was not connected to the grid at all. Their water still comes from the well, though during the rainy season, at least at my house, all the drinking water is collected from the rainfall. Pretty incredible.
And speaking of the rainy season, I'd only previously seen the village during the dry season. We had two incredible thunderstorms and every day there were threatening clouds. And with the rainy season comes an incredible variety of insects. It was hard to get used to this. One night, I had trouble falling asleep because of the loud clap of insects wings, the noise they made when they landed on my mosquito net, and the sound of their footsteps on the plastic mat in my room. Ha! But such is life in the village, I suppose.
The rain obviously brings the milieu back to life. It was incredibly green. When I'd last left at the very end of the dry season, it was all brown. Now, the countryside stretches into the distance boasting lush green fields of millet plants and freshly sown peanut fields. The land is speckled with tall trees of all varieties, including palms, baobabs, and mango trees. Words can't do the scene justice.
I didn't do much of anything while I was there. There was a lot of sitting and reading, listening to the family chatter in Serer, a language I don't understand. I played with the younger girls that were at the house. Occasionaly, we were sent on errands by my mother.
One afternoon was spent buying millet and having it ground. We purchased it from a neighbor, then took it to the mill to have it ground. Much easier than the old fashion method with the person-sized mortar and pestle. While waiting for it to be ground, we and many other neighborhood children circled around a television in someone's house, and watched a Brazilian soap opera that's been translated into French. If there's one thing the Senegalese do religiously besides praying, it's watching their soap operas.
After dinner, we all sat outside, avoided the bugs that like to dive-bomb into your head, and chatted some more. Power outages are as frequent in the village as they are in Dakar. So often we'd be left to sit in the dark and listen to music on someone's cell phone until we were tired enough to go to sleep.
The village life is a different life. It's calmer and simpler. Men and women alike work very hard every day. Young men and boys go to the fields in the morning and evening. Women tend to all things domestic. But it's a social life. A neighbor will bring her rice over to our house to chat while she sorts out the small stones from the rice. Individual portions of the meals prepared at neighboring houses are brought and shared. Small children (3-years-old) will walk unaccompanied through the sand roads from one side of the village to the other to seek their friends. Men will spend hours sitting under trees or constructed shelters in public spaces passing the time. It's a far cry from the individualized lifestyle we have in the US. In the village, there are always people around. And that is what I love so much.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Suba damay dem ca all ba, InchAllah
Well, off I go again, back to the bush, God willing, of course. My first 10 days here in Dakar have passed very quickly as I knew they would. I have nothing much to report. I am alive, well and happy.
Though today I am completely exhausted from a long walk in the sun (and a subsequent sunburn) and bargaining at a market. Though my friend's mom went with me, and boy! you should see a Senegalese woman bargain. It is amazing to watch. I can only dream of being so good. Although today I got a vendor down from 4,500CFA to 1,500CFA, so I think that's not too shabby, a difference of more than $6.
I went to the fabric market on Thursday. I'm like a kid in a candy shop there. It's my guilty pleasure, buying fabric and sketching out designs to bring to the tailor. It's a frustrating process though because my French and Wolof are just not good enough to describe exactly how I want the clothing to turn out. Heck, I don't even know the terms in English, so we'll see how this round goes. Keep your fingers crossed.
I'm anxious about the gift giving that necessarily accompanies all visits in Senegal. I hope my family and friends in the village are please with what I've brought. You never know. And when you give gifts, it's just not the same as in the US.
For example, our 14-year-old maid (just working to earn money during her summer break) demanded that I buy her earrings when I went to the fabric market. I was annoyed as I'm still not used to demanded gifts, but I figured it was the least I could do. I bought a pair for appoximately $1.60, so it wasn't exactly putting me out too much, though here that is a decent amount of money. When I came home, her first words to me were, "Where are my earrings?" When I gave them to her, she muttered "merci" and tossed them aside. What is this culture around gifts!? Was it because she didn't want the family members to know she'd asked for them and that I'd given them? Was she not pleased? She hasn't said a word about it since. Ugh. I doubt I'll ever understand.
It's frustrating being a symbol of money all the time. Yesterday, my friend's aunt was shocked to learn that not all white people are rich. She couldn't believe when I told her there are homeless people in the United States, people who can't go to the doctor, people who are poor.
Ah yes, the USofA isn't quite the dream everyone here thinks it to be, but it's hard to explain that.
Okay, time for dinner and to pack my bags. Then hopefully a good night out with friends before I take off for a week.
Jamm ak jamm!
Though today I am completely exhausted from a long walk in the sun (and a subsequent sunburn) and bargaining at a market. Though my friend's mom went with me, and boy! you should see a Senegalese woman bargain. It is amazing to watch. I can only dream of being so good. Although today I got a vendor down from 4,500CFA to 1,500CFA, so I think that's not too shabby, a difference of more than $6.
I went to the fabric market on Thursday. I'm like a kid in a candy shop there. It's my guilty pleasure, buying fabric and sketching out designs to bring to the tailor. It's a frustrating process though because my French and Wolof are just not good enough to describe exactly how I want the clothing to turn out. Heck, I don't even know the terms in English, so we'll see how this round goes. Keep your fingers crossed.
I'm anxious about the gift giving that necessarily accompanies all visits in Senegal. I hope my family and friends in the village are please with what I've brought. You never know. And when you give gifts, it's just not the same as in the US.
For example, our 14-year-old maid (just working to earn money during her summer break) demanded that I buy her earrings when I went to the fabric market. I was annoyed as I'm still not used to demanded gifts, but I figured it was the least I could do. I bought a pair for appoximately $1.60, so it wasn't exactly putting me out too much, though here that is a decent amount of money. When I came home, her first words to me were, "Where are my earrings?" When I gave them to her, she muttered "merci" and tossed them aside. What is this culture around gifts!? Was it because she didn't want the family members to know she'd asked for them and that I'd given them? Was she not pleased? She hasn't said a word about it since. Ugh. I doubt I'll ever understand.
It's frustrating being a symbol of money all the time. Yesterday, my friend's aunt was shocked to learn that not all white people are rich. She couldn't believe when I told her there are homeless people in the United States, people who can't go to the doctor, people who are poor.
Ah yes, the USofA isn't quite the dream everyone here thinks it to be, but it's hard to explain that.
Okay, time for dinner and to pack my bags. Then hopefully a good night out with friends before I take off for a week.
Jamm ak jamm!
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