early last week, our logistician returned to the mission. he said that on his drive to dagahaley, he passed a truck, stuck, sunk, people pushing to and fro, while its wheels spit sand.
i've been away. it was a place much like dagahaley. the difference was, when i tired of the heat, or the sand, i would wade into water near as clear as air, and swim between schools of skipping f
so little water. it hasn't rained here for two years. we get ours from boreholes dug deep in the dirt, metres down where hidden lakes hover between layers of clay. we bring them to the top, hold
a black figure approaches on the horizon, jittering up and down with the car. it is a small boy and as we pass, he points at the blue jug on this forehead.
This morning I arrived to a quiet blue bundle on the wards first bed
The cleaner, his beard dyed henna red
Waiting patiently to clean the plastic below
A boy, newly dead
last night i shared a shower with a frog. as the water poured from the pipe, still hot from the sun, i saw him bouncing in the corner of my eye. i thought at first it was a jittery cockroach, jag
i’ve noted it before, but one’s empathy for the sick improves each time he joins their company. ill, we are diminished, further removed from complete participation in the present moment, another t
