really that’s all i can think about.

is going back. my heart beats faster…its a crush that started when i least expected…at moody’s mission conference of all places. i hate when trying to remember an experience, the details seem to constantly slip…fade..but i can remember

.the first time i met laraba and painting her hand with gentian violet

.bringing estha to play with kids in blindtown

.the fulani market. i have no idea where. but there were bright pink and purple wrapped braids; 2 men with canes and sunglasses resembling the blind mice. one tall. one short.

.the fulani man wearing a blue cap sitting off to the side in the village.

.how the streets smelled. walking on them and jumping over where slabs of cement were missing.

.the taxis. the first one i rode in with rain water splashing up as the floor board was missing. one broke down and left us to fend for ourselves.

.the mattresses…on top of the van as we again, went somewhere i cant remember. but the 2nd village we went to, there was a women with the most intricately tattooed face. singing drunkenly to us. but before that there were yellow yams.

.yellow plastic bags.

.the {illegal} achebe rides.

.long talks over apple chamomile tea and hob nobs…

.feeling abandoned by christianity. unable to identify with how i thought i was supposed to react or what i was meant to represent.

it was just me and estha in the hospital room.

and she wouldn’t let go of my hand.

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