To be continued...

It's hard to start this one. In 30 minutes, we're going to the tailor to be measured for our dresses. We each chose fabric for our traditional African dresses. Here's my fabric: (I'm so excited!!!!!)

It's hard to start this one because I have so much to say, but I don't know where to begin. We're always go-go-going, and I love it. I love the adrenaline and the surprises and the people and the places, but I must remind myself to write. I have a Moleskin journal from my very very amazing, beautiful, wonderous best friend, Alex, who is wanderlusting through South America right now. She's on her own adventure. She reminds me to write. The journal reminds me to write. I remind myself to write, and when I don't write I feel as though something is amiss. 

So, let's go.

I'll start with after Nyamata. Last Thursday. We drove straight from the memorial site to a cooperative of about 50 houses where survivors and perpetrators live side by side. My skin was still crawling because I had not wanted to leave the church. We drove on a narrow pathway to the cooperative and children flooded toward our bus, yelling "AMAKURU!" and matching their hands with ours through the window glass. I felt calm because I imagined myself entering into the ideal community in this post-genocide society where victims and perpetrators are living with fear, grief, remorse, regret, etc.; I felt that this community -- a community where survivors and perpetrators have chosen to live neighbor to neighbor -- was something hopeful. 

We stopped at this house and sat outside in a circle on benches.

And they talked, and we listened, and we asked questions, and I did not feel satisfied.

To be continued...

Yanna