I am living Peppa Pig this morning. Tiny little voices calling “Deddy” in her accent. My heart is melted before I even emerge which I hesitate to do. There is an early morning chill in the air.
I am afforded the luxury of a solitary walk down our dead end lane. I pass growing corn towering above me, taller than my sons. The wind in the field is like a crowd cheering in the distance, soft but insistent. It crescendos and decrescendos as if doing the ‘wave’. The chittering of birds singing with the motion.
I pass a magnificent jacketed stallion as he romps in joy around a neighborhood corral, playfully lying down in the dirt to exalt in his freedom to run. Around and around he trots until he breaks into a gallop, mane flowing with the breeze. We stop to look at each other with curiosity and admiration and then off we both go to revel in the day.
Oak lined streets making shady tunnels under which to wander. Bird houses on every five or six trees. Flowers and farms and gardens galore. There are not enough words to describe the earthy green perfection of this countryside. This land speaks to my heart in countless reviving ways.
We take the train to Amsterdam. My Peter and Richard have been diverted from their European Rhine cruise to The Netherlands because of drought caused low water levels. As a bonus, I get to meet them for an afternoon in Amsterdam. This will make three of my sons sharing one of my favorite cities with me.
Elske gives us a walking tour which is more of a guided pub and canal crawl. From White beer to smoky porter with raspberry ale in between, Elske and Peter do Philip proud. I stick to wine and Richard is our designated walker. It is a really fine day. I am overflowing with the sweetness of my unexpected blessings.
It is later than my first awakening and I am being coaxed awake by the deep throated growl of an unseen owl, mourning doves with their lyrical repetition, and a guttural fluttering sound of the unknown; is it a bird on wing or a daddie playing with his baby…or both? The flurry of pattering feet join the chorus as children begin their days with laughing and playing.
We visited the Maastricht Museum yesterday. The tour started with these words: “Tell your stories in the company of those who have already told theirs”. I like this. What better motto to have on a history tour with historic friends.
Today, we have no agenda. Sit and breathe. Eat and savor. Be silent (or not) in the company of those who already share my stories. It is sure to be one of my favorite kind of days.
It is cool and bright. A very fine day, indeed. We venture into Den Bosch , also known by the crazy ‘sHerto…name.
The ‘square’ is bustling this Friday afternoon. The long tunnel streets lead up to it with their stately manors of brick and stone; many with a distinct peak and weather vane. St. Jon cathedral rises magnificently in all its gothic medieval charm. Its ornate expansive details ignite my doodling mind. Its stained glass glittering in the late afternoon sun.
The ‘square’ is more of a meeting of many paths into a wide gathering place. I am told it is like many squares opening together. It is lined with iconic pubs and shops. We sit at the edge in one pub under a green umbrella sipping smooth refreshment and watch the people.The town is alive with activity.
A Calliope-like music box is being pulled by two men. As we sit, it plays one of my dads favorite songs by Abba, I Have A Dream. It is the song that prompted him to send me the album when I was in college with Elske. Together with our roommates, we would dash out on the balcony at midnight and sing ‘Gimme, Gimme, Gimme…a man after midnight.” Turns out our wishes were granted to us all!
The evening in the glen of Namaste camping park is also full of life. The weekend has brought in families for every spot. The young ones find each other easily and become best friends in an instant. Their laughter and tears ring with abandon. As one of the olders, I sit with my friends and enjoy the close of day. The sun in its brilliant oranges and pinks illuminate the tree border displaying God’s natural stained glass in all its brilliance.
This place with my people, it gives my heart rest. I could stay here in this comfortable warm bed in my glamping tent of repose… if only the bathroom wasn’t a half a mile away in the middle of the night!💥 JK. (It seems closer in the daylight)
We return to Amsterdam tomorrow with wonders all its own. I fall sleep, grateful for how pleasant my boundaries are, indeed.
6 The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance. (Psalm 16:5-6, RSV)
The laughter of children awakens me today. They are just outside bouncing on the in-ground trampoline. It is an enchanting song as they glory in a life of living in the present. This is a worthy goal for my day.
The clouds dot the light blue sky as the cool breezes suggest I may need my coat today. The horses are up and snorting in protracted fervor and we are off to meet a brand new grandbaby in Echt.
A baby is God’s opinion that the world should go on Carl Sandburg
It is the same message from the early morning trampoline.
Echt E an J’s darling new one is fresh from heaven with sweetness and light in every centimeter. Her presence in my arms touches my deep places and my tears at her perfection are hard to hide. There is something so tender, pure and right about sharing the happiness of those I have seen grow.
Their home is not only a musical paradise but a marvel of quirky character with its nooks and crannies. Why does architecture so captivate me? I could live here.
Maastricht The roads to the square are cobbled and narrow like slot canyons of the city, the old brick row houses rise to the sky. There is joy in being back.
I speak to this city of my heart. Would I love you if it weren’t for your history in my life? Do I see you only through the eyes of the memory of young love, of continued love? If I let you go, do I let Philip go? Maastricht is a safe place to leave my heart, to pick it up again in cherished memories when I visit… Do others see it’s magic or is it simply my overactive mind’s eye?
You know what? It doesn’t matter. This is my happy place. Sitting on the Maastricht square at VRIJTHOF 9, eating a delicious meal I have loved for years, with friends who are family. The cool wind rustling its chorus through the rows of trees. Three grand cathedrals in contrasting colors standing sentinels commanding my notice. What else could I want or need in this moment? Well, maybe Philip…but he is already here.
I awake to the gentle crinkling on my tent’s peak as leaves and early morning breezes entice my eyes to open. Dawn has come since last I closed my eyes. I did not expect such a deep sleep as this.
There is a hush over the land, a softness to the air, a peaceful lull, a delicious sweetness not found at any other time of day. I linger within it eager to be infused with its freshness. I am reminded how God’s Spirit hovered over the waters of creation speaking life and I realize this longing is God hovering over His new creation of a day even within me. It is how He speaks life into the me I will become today.
The sounds of early morning farm life have replaced the cockledoodledoos of my Tanzanian sunrises. The horses neigh and snort, the smell of hay and the richness of dirt and land fill my deep breathing.
My friends have invited me on their vacation. They are traveling the southern Netherlands exploring the diverse history of it. We have come to Middlerode where we are camping at the end of a charming dead end lane. The campground is in the lovely secluded center of this working farm. There are families all around sharing the beauty of living out loud in the outdoors.
Horses and farms nestled in neighborhoods of quaint brick houses with living fences and wooden gates. One way cobblestoned streets that accommodate two way traffic and require good manners to rule the day. We pass the bright yellow of the growing sunflower border that marks a boundary for the corn. The breezes bear the sweetness of the country’s allure.
We are off to Breda today to the STDLK museum.. There is more history to be learned in one of the oldest cities in The Netherlands. It is a modern museum filled with long ago treasures. My curiosity is piqued by the towers and turrets of the castle and church, circa 1400, but my heart belongs to the paintings of light and shadow.
The Master’s Light You call to me from the light of these paintings but I don’t recognize the message. My heart is set afire with an almost visceral desire to create this way. In the layers of light and color and, like a tractor beam, I am pulled into the texturing and miracle of clarity and shadow, depth and grandeur. The longing to internalize and make real the elusive mystery of such skill makes me ache with my perceived lack. I must sit in it awhile and listen to understand.
You are calling me into the beauty of the light. You, through it, push back the shadowy crowdedness and boundaries of my inward self. It is Your process within me that makes room for the beauty of Yourself. Little by little expanding my capacity until I will no longer ache with longing because Your beauty will have made room to live fully at home in me. This is the message of The Master’s Light.
You, as always, give meaning and rest to my wandering soul when I sit within Your leading. What a marvelous day!
My soul longs for Thee as I feel You call to me from the vastness of the green fields of potatoes and corn with their waterways of living water dividing the meadows. You whisper from the heights of the tree lined canals and the turreted porches of the canal houses. These capture my imagination, as they always do, and I am lost to a life of artistry and worship from above to above and within.
Come away into the solitude of the old growth countryside in the hamlets of Middlerode and high in the ancient churches and ammunition houses of the city of ‘s-Hertogenbosch. The quiet canals and silent waters. Beneath the arches of light and shadow, high in the belfrys near the rafters, in the bursting flower boxes of the tall canal houses with their porches all adorned. Their weather vanes atop in splendid intricacy luring my doodle hands into a display of their own.
There is the deepness of history here through which I hear God’s voice. “See what has been done, look to what I will do, be present in what I am doing as I refresh your soul with my presence, everywhere displayed.”
Our destination is the Museum Kruithuis. It is housed in a 14th century ammunition depot. I leave my friends to their tour and explore on my own. I’m thinking I’ll just take in the building and call it good until I remember Google translate. I translate all the signs and am immersed in the Dutch 80 years war. It is an amazing marvel. I feel like I’m on the Enterprise with my universal translator. I learn that the outer walls are thicker than the inner in case of explosions. It is a clever way to protect the city. My tour takes me to the rafters and I look out over the inner courtyard. This place has the feel of a medieval castle and I am delighted to take the ups and downs at my leisure.
My home tonight is a well appointed glamping tent next to the tent of my old growth friends of my youth. Sheltered in a meadow surrounded by the majesty of trees which, in turn, are surrounded by farms of potatoes and corn. The smell of rain is in the wind that is waking up as the day winds down. The gentle rustling of leaves on high, rock me to sleep. I am in the embrace of my God Who rests me in the deep slumber of His care, safe, nourished and loved.
My heart wants to sit and be still among the miles of green, golden tipped grasses, under the umbrella trees with the sweetness of the breezes filling my lungs. There is something about this land that calls to my deep places promising connection only found in stillness.
There is little stillness on safari. From sighting to sighting, we bounce in search of God’s brilliance. The zebras, ostrich and occasional muzunga peeing behind the safari trick giving new meaning to the ‘rear’ view mirror.
We take the road less traveled which increases the jostle factor but, in a sense, allows for solitude not found on the main roads. I can reach out and touch the grasses, see the fluttering of delicate wings over brilliant flat white flowers and marvel at the immensity of the Baobao trees.
There are elephants and giraffes with babies galore. A lioness walking across the shallow riverbed in search of sun and a N.A.P meeting. A tree full of big and little baboons both in the branches and on the ground. Those below look up at those on high while every matter of body material randomly falls. The tiny ones so skillfully navigating the precarious branches threatening to misstep and join the body matter… It is a brilliant day in the savannah grasslands of the Tarangire.
Tanzi Saturday, August, 2026
Sunday
It is a day of solitude as I sit on a porch facing the jungle.
There is cloud cover in this world above the Ngorogoro Crater. The smell of fresh rain is in the air either coming or having gone or both. A slight chill is on the air adding texture. This ‘winter’ wind of the southern hemisphere sends the leaves of all sizes into a flurry of whirring. Their flutter dance moving the branches in waves of unison as they catch the breeze symphony. A morning dove keeps the beat as the tiny birds sing the melody in endless variety. The broccoli forest bookends the layers of green in their limitless hues and depth. I watch for the wild baboons of last June and I sit and breathe.
Let the inner stillness begin. Speak, Lord,
10″Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!” (Psalm 46:10, ESV)
1”The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. 2 He makes me lie down in green jungles. He leads me beside still forests. 3 He restores my soul, leading me in paths of righteousness for His name’s sake…”
“6Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the LORD forever.” (Psalm 23:1-3, 6 ESV)
“13For it is God who works in you to will and to act according to His good purpose.” Philippians 2:13
“16For God so loved the world that He gave…” John 3:16
“Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith.” Hebrews 12:2
“13I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End.”Rev 22:13
As He restores my soul in the stillness, He goes before me, leading me. As He leads me, He works within me to will and to act according to His good purpose. As I will and act according to His good purpose, His goodness and mercy are the result left in my wake.
And so God’s circle of giving is in continual motion. He gives to me and goodness and mercy result. Others are given this goodness and mercy that follows. This draws them to Him. He gives. They give to others, including me, goodness and mercy follow…
Little ‘g’ goodness and mercy follow me as Big ‘G’ Goodness and Mercy lead me in the person of Jesus, the author and perfector of my faith. He is the beginning and the end and the best of the middle. Fix my eyes there and the rest will “follow”.
One last prayer at the foot of God’s mountain. The moon’s bright beams peek from behind the clouds giving a lightness and splendour to New Hope. The bugs and birds and roosters sing me awake finishing the job my son started when he called me at 0430 this morning. It turns out I did not set my alarm so it was an unexpected and welcomed blessing! His mercies are new every morning. Thank God!
My spirit feels clear and ready for our final day of clinic until we arrive and set up. I arrrange my corner clinic with supplies, a chair…all the things. My first patient is my darling from former days, here for her last IV injection. She is understandably cautious but easily consolable in her uncertainty. The water bottle splint has protected her IV well so it is an easy thing to use and remove. She is on the mend and I send her off with her grateful Mama. My hands full of discarded supplies, I find someone has taken my garbage bag and I abruptly snap into an over reactive, as of the world is ending snit. It catches me by surprise and I realize my spirit is not as clear as I had hoped. Part of me lingers on the ‘thoughtless injustice’ and part of me prays for an attitude adjustment only God can provide.
My little family of girls has returned today for a trip to Longido for malnutrition evaluation. They are joining two other vans, full of patIents. There is a lively discussion in Swahili among my docs. When they are done, Dr. S realizes he has not included me and he turns to me. “We discriminated you,” he says. I was taking no offense and let out a hearty laugh despite myself.
The walk to the bathroom today becomes a social fiesta. Latin, a tall, handsome Maasai, stops to chat. He had brought his sick friend to the clinic from his house on the hill telling me this is his village. He asks me where I am from and wants to thank me for coming.
Further down the path, I spot four young boys playing under a thorn tree in the rocks. Their precious giggling catches my attention. I raise my hand and enthusiastically call out to them, “Jambo!” They are thrilled to be seen and their small bodies become pogo sticks with their jumping and waving. Their faces alight with wide grins of greeting.
I leave the path for a visit which, I think, surprises them. They close ranks, one going back for his Maasai stick. They stand together arm in arm as I approach. Three in the front and one behind who seems a bit shy as he holds a bottle cap in his mouth. I greet each one with a fist bump and my wee warriors pose for pictures. They give me a thumbs up and as I walk away, I can hear their soul delighting laughter. It is the attitude adjuster I need.
My corner clinic is busy. We have replaced my stock several times this week and so again today. The number of people with pneumonia exceeds anything we have seen before and our patients are so sick. Our guidelines advise multiple day treatments for the littles and my final round of repeat darlings cycle through today. They have increased energy, decreased fevers and more relaxed Mamas. It is another attitude adjuster as I see the effects of the medicine in smiling kids.
As with the start of clinic, the end tends to be a bit chaotic. Supplies are low, people are waiting and time is marching toward sunset. It is now that we need to pivot. As we clear the line inside, Kelly begins rapid assessment of those remaining outside. I am her runner. I dash inside to collect minor treatment items while she gives everyone vitamins and toothbrushes. It’s a win-win. Everyone gets something as we wrap up and gratitude is the predominant feeling shared by all.
What a week. It is always a bittersweet ending. We have shared so much as a team as we have become the life of Galatians 3:28.
“There is neither US and African, neither examiner nor translator, nor foreigner or local, for we are all one in Christ Jesus.” (Paraphrased)
There is truly nothing more meaningful and beautiful than to join Jesus in the work of taking back His beloved creation.
We leave early having heard there are many people waiting already. Some have been waiting for hours.
The other days I have looked for purpose which always found me and today is no different. But today, I have, at last, embraced my purpose and opened a shot clinic in the corner chair. All day long I mix and administer, repeat. It is what I love and I get one on one time which I also love. I am quite happy with my role.
When I arrive, I am greeted at the door by two of my returning patients. One from Monday, one from yesterday.
Without paperwork, I look among my photos for confirmation. My darling needed another dose of her antibiotic. She was curled up on her mother’s lap with one arm snugly resting beneath Mama’s shuka. I mixed the med and gave her shot. When it was time to go, Mama pulled out the hidden arm to ask about the IV. My heart dropped! I could have given the med IV and saved the child the pain. Irritated with myself lack of vision, I can only hope that Jesus will use my mistake for His purposes.
Next in my corner chair is the little one with all the sisters. She needs a repeat dose of antibiotics. Her IV from yesterday is not working so I try without success to start a new one. I call Erasco over but does not succeed either so I give the necessary dose by shot. I hate it when my skills fail me especially with the wee ones. I can feel myself becoming increasingly disgusted with myself.
When a tiny one arrives in the chair for IV meds, I am relieved to find a giant hand vein. “At last,” I think, “I can redeem myself!” When the catheter breaks mid stick something breaks in me. All I want to do is storm off, curse, scream, cry but I’ve trained myself well. I power through and do not take the time to go outside and scream. There is plenty of screaming inside however as I try to stay off the edge of complete collapse,
As the week has progressed, I have felt my body tiring but have taken refuge in God’s strong Spirit. Today, I can feel the fatigue creeping into my spirit as well. I let go of some things and am completely undone by others. As the clinic finishes up, I take a moment to sit in the bus alone and scream on the inside. I do not understand days like this and my heart is heavy with disappointment in myself and the way of things.
God knows this. He sends me our team to speak for Him to me. I am handed a bottle of water and given a reassuring pat on the back. I am distracted by the joy of a calmed and happy patient formerly known for his shrill resistance as he plays with another of us. Peter’s son comes, his sweetness transmitted through his nearness. I am hugged mentally and physically by others. They remind me of my value by reminding me that God’s purposes cover all of living. It’s okay to be discouraged at the effects of living in a world outside of His original intention. He welcomes my tears, sending His comfort in beautiful ways.
The day ends with God’s piece de resistance! My Arusha boy and his dad have come to clinic to see us. He is smiling and strong. He takes my hands and with his brilliant smile he says “Thank you!” His dad has his precious grateful tears in his eyes again. He bear hugs me, kissing each of my cheeks, his gratitude overflowing. He tells me that because of my kindness, his son is mine.
I am so pleased to see their vibrance and my angst is wiped away in an instant. God has said He will wipe away every tear. I just didn’t expect it would be today.
I am up and ready for sunrise but decide to just lay down and wait for my sunrise buddies…and then it is breakfast and I have missed it. I am slow today, muted like the dusty landscape.
We return again to our middle of somewhere clinic. Yesterday, clinic saw a mom with four daughters, five months to five years old. All of them with pneumonia, fever and severe malnutrition. We brought them to the hospital but we’re not pleased with the care given so we brought them home today. I am tasked with making sense of the many medicines they needed. I had no paperwork, no names, no doses. My slow state of being made this more challenging than I would have liked. It was complicated by being interrupted to take care of other things. When all was said and done, it wasn’t. Mom found me to ask about the baby’s IV. I was so focused on the tasks I was given, I failed to question the IV. This led to a dose of IV antibiotic and another delay but afforded us the opportunity to reassess the sisters and give another dose of Tylenol. They will return tomorrow and Friday.
In the middle of the above, my girlfriend from Monday returns. Her heart rate and fever are still high and she needs a new IV. Monday she was so sick that she allowed me to start her IV without a struggle. She has more energy today and she is full of resistance. This is a good sign for her but a complexity for me. I make three attempts but her pulling away hinders each one. Kelly tells me she can get the local nurse to try. I met Erasco several trips ago and his nursing skills did not impress me. I was reluctant to allow him to try until I realized I was really afraid that he might succeed where I did not. Confronted with my own arrogance, I gave it up to God and invited Erasco in. He did not succeed but it was an arrogance busting gift nonetheless. I give the medicine by shot.
Another darling, about three years old, comes in with the same rampant fever and pneumonia. Mom reported that she was still breastfeeding because there was no food to give her. While she waited for vitamins with her mom, she became suddenly unresponsive. After several sternal rubs, she awoke and resumed her crying and irritability, resisting all care. It was decided she needed an IV with antibiotics. I was hesitant to take her on because of my recent debacle but I got over myself, again, and proceeded. The IV went in efficiently and being easily consolable now, she slept in her Mama’s arms for the antibiotic. She will return tomorrow.
As the last patient left today, I waved and found myself saying goodbye in Navajo. She didn’t mind. She just smiled and waved back and it made me smile too, partly at my ridiculous self.
My fatigue has made this a day of complex emotions and challenges. I’ve wanted to cry on more than one occasion but despite myself, I know we are needed here. Some of our patients would not have survived the week without treatment. When my efforts don’t seem to be enough, I can trust that His purposes will always trump mine. Thank God!
We return to our same clinic in the middle of somewhere today. The goats are out in numbers this morning and are like bright points of white as they gather the day’s light and radiate it outwards. I can only hope to be as brilliant with the radiant light of Jesus.
As we set up, I get the notion that I need to go to the bus and pray, so I do. “Whatever You have in store, Lord, strengthen us in our inner beings through the power of Your Holy Spirit and blast out the walls with Your kindness and power through us. Amen”. I eat a quick snack and go back.
Upon returning to clinic, I look around for a purpose for myself. There is no table space or interpreter for me to be an examiner though that rarely stops me. No shots to give…yet…mmmm
Then Dr. Maria calls my name. She has examined a young man with severe abdominal pain. He is weak and nauseous and breathing very fast as he grunts in pain. I start an IV and give an antibiotic as they discuss our options. He needs an ultrasound and possible surgical intervention which means he needs a ride to a hospital. Khalifa offers his car and Kelly offers me (JK she asked me first). The young man’s dad is with him and touches my arm. I look up from my work and with tear filled eyes, dad pats his heart and my hand. An interpreter tells me he is about to cry because he is so grateful but, in truth, that message needed no translation. I pat my own heart and with my own tears, I add my own grateful affirmation to his.
Mt. Meru Hospital is in Arusha. This means a trek back to Ketumbiene with a brief stop at the hospital for some IV Tylenol and a two hour drive beyond. The road from here to Longido will be a treacherously disruptive ride for someone grunting in pain when sitting still. “That is the way of the bushland,”I think, until I am reminded of my above prayer. I realize that the ‘us’ of my prayer included my young patient and his dad.
I try to anticipate our every need and gather what my mental list hurries to form. I have several others handing me items from their own lists. I hang the IV by a glove from the panic handle above the door. Though a slow drip is ordered, the physics of a wild ride does not lend itself to one. This necessitates the holding of my arm above my head to steady it. No worries, it is only a three hour raucous ride and I have prayed for strength already.
By Ketumbiene, my boy has slowed his breathing, ceased his grunting and reports the pain is less. By Longido, he is talking to me in English and translating for his dad. By Arusha, he has napped. All this despite the bouncing car!
Never underestimate the power of prayer!
We are taken into the pediatric ER room. A narrow room that barely fits two stretchers. The stretcher is elevated and a scrub wearing somebody points to my patient to climb on board but is given no assistance. It is too high to jump on and I can find no footstool so he barely reaches the top with his backside and uses his feet against the wall to push himself on. And that is just the beginning of my head-shaking hinkiness.
They decide he belongs in the Men’s ER. Men and women are separated into two rooms. This crowded new place has 4 stretchers, no curtains and a computer area. The person in the corner is intubated and taking care of himself. There is one with male problems lying uncovered. The other is getting an Abdominal Ultrasound! At last, a glimmer of hope!
I am somewhat of a novelty. Black scrubs TanziAnne nametag, stethoscope… the security guards peek in to get a look. There are several white coated people who walk in and out. There are several others taking notes and assisting with procedures. They all look my way but only a few talk to me and interestingly, these talkers are only curious and don’t end up being involved in our care.
There is one very finely dressed African man with a smooth, delicious voice who appears briefly and unexpectedly from behind the curtain of a door. He speaks my name from my name tag, TanziAnne, and I can feel myself blush. I never intended for that name to be taken seriously but to hear it from his mouth, I may change my mind. Oolala.
It makes me think of the name Jesus has for me in heaven. It will be all that and more… I wonder if perhaps, he was Jesus stopping by … I never saw him again.
When Dr. Kisarika comes over, the real work begins. He is kind and thorough, listening to my history with attention and wanting to know where and why we’ve come. After his physical assessment, he outlines his specific plan: Labs, meds, fluids, ultrasound, surgical evaluation. He talks with our Dr. N and lines me out on how to pay even walking me to the correct windows. He continues to ask about Zoe Hope saying he is impressed and would love to give back. I think he will care well for our boy.
As I walk to the car with Dad, I ask him if he knows Jesus. He tells me, through Khalifa, that he does know Jesus from the Catholic tradition. He thanks me again, still so moved by this experience. I wonder if the walls of his knowing are perhaps being blasted open.
There is a parade of brightly clad women all with identical woven baskets on their heads. They are walking single file out of the city on the way home. Heavy laden donkeys, herds of white goats, dark green uniformed school children follow and against the dry fields of corn, they are, every one, magnificent!
I, too, am on my way home to Ketumbiene. I am hot and dusty, not smelling magnificent but satisfied nonetheless.
Tripping with God: Stories of Faith and Inspiration 