Home Away From Home

It's T-1. Tomorrow at this time I am on a plane to Maputo. I have been away for 2 years, it is too long. Mozambique will always break my heart apart. It breaks my heart to see what's there despite the joy of all we accomplish. It breaks my life to leave C behind but I can't wait to go back. It breaks my heart to leave without seeing every single child but time is too short there. It breaks my heart to spend so much time solving grown up problems when really I wanted to be hearing about children problems instead. It has always been such mixed feeling and such an attempt not to want more than I can get.  When going the important is to focus on the achievements and not the ones we failed, the ones that are in school and not the ones that pregnant, the ones rebuilding their homes rather than the ones who just lost it, the ones getting treatment for AIDS rather than the ones dying of it. It is hard, as the numbers usually are against you.  It's a long and hard ultra marathon

As I sit in the tube, someone sings next to me in what sounds like arabic. It could not be, but looks like it. Echoing chants in a compenetrated fashion. You can see the surprise in some people's faces when they see someone humming on the train. But as they hear the type of humming, there is a slight cloud of fear that is hard to control. As I look around me I can't help but think many are thinking what he will do next. Reading the lyrics from his phone,that only I can see, as I sit next to him, this image is hard to ignore. The white big male in front of me is markedly checking for movements. I try to focus on my game and leave him in peace. Deep inside, I can't ignore it. And it is so unfair we feel like thi s. I focus on T and all the amazing arabs I know. How this could be a love song that he likes or his practicing or enjoys. How this could be his most efficient way to do his morning prayers. How this could not even be arabic for all I know. But what about all the peop