This morning I called my friend Musa, who’s a maintenance worker at Faith Alive. It sounded like he was in the midst of a crowd all talking over each other, so I asked if he was at Faith Alive. I’m glad I was in the privacy of my home because I had to repeat “WHERE ARE YOU? “. “I’m in the market,” he said. Immediately I could envision the commotion of people snaking their way along dirt paths around the stalls and beggars, bargaining for the best prices of gigantic yams and multicolored fabric, and breathing exhaust fumes from motorbikes and roadside trash fires. It was nearly impossible to continue the phone conversation, so we said our saanjumas (see you laters). Thinking of Musa at the market will help me today while I’m writing my book at a quiet, cozy coffee shop.
(Photo courtesy of Cathy McDermott)
No comments:
Post a Comment