about keeping a journal... I keep cameras... but here goes...
the air here is thick with the red dust that makes up most of the roads and smells of dried wood fires, diesel and brick. the sun sets early, not because it has crossed the horizon but because the atmosphere is so thick with exhaust and dirt that it creates a higher softer horizon.... burnishing everything the light falls on an hour before the real sun sets below the real horizon .... the markets teem at this hour... small wooden shacks with corrugated tin roofs... goods dangling like so many unfulfilled wishes... one sign in particular caught my eye 'librarie du savoir' ... it was closed ... and in so many ways so is Mali... there is no god here or devil... just little gods and little devils ... who like the shops open and close themselves to us at whim... I walked the 4 miles to the 'guare' (the bus stop where most of the trafficking takes place) ... the same walk the kids take... I was looking for the 'locateurs' (trafficking agents) ... who kidnap these kids... in the middle of this squalor of limping buses and touts and mud and piss and tilted everythings I finally saw one and he saw me... and it was like we knew each other... and the knowledge that those who prey upon others may one day be preyed upon...
That is part of today... save this for me... as I normally don't write that much... and share it and my love with [your husband]
RR
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