It is also home.
In many ways, the past month feels like a surreal dream. It is separate, unrelated to this big city and my busy days of work, coffee dates, TV watching, sports-playing, and music-listening.
I know that isn't entirely true. I don't want that to be true.
|the "streets" of Kyoruba|
But I also don't know how to make it so.
I remembered this morning that three weeks ago, I wandered into a river just outside the village of Kyoruba, my skirt held above my knees, but still skimming the water, and stood in the sun. My hand on the shoulder of a young woman, I listened and prayed as the priest baptized her after baptizing her husband and another young man.
I don't know how I had already forgotten this, the honour of being a witness to her baptism, the fear I felt about entering potentially-parasitic waters, the unity of being with brothers and sisters despite barriers of language and culture.
All the things are too much, sometimes.
I have to write a ten page research paper in the next three weeks (eek!) on any topic related to our readings and experiences. I'm surprisingly excited for this paper, mostly because I can think of no other (better) way to process and synthesize what's happened inside my head.