Bocce? I never knew.

Hello, world.
It is about six o'clock here in The Crags. It's not too cold, because the sun hasn't gone down yet. But just you wait.
Yesterday was a national holiday - Freedom Day, to commemorate the day Nelson Mandela walked free from prison. Did you know that Nelson Mandela is not even close to his real name? Both his first and last name are nicknames, and they just sort of stuck. You learn a lot on a twelve hour flight.
SO. Rocky Road is unbelievable. Even in autumn, everything is lush and green. The wind is breathing, working it's way through the leaves in the trees. With every barefoot step in the grass, little locusts pop up. If I move slowly, I can hear their tiny legs hitch as they jump.
Yesterday, Chris, Rocky, and I drove to this little beach that's so out of the way, only natives go there. We had to wind our way through the mountains, driving on the old highway. Rocky said that about six years ago, somebody spotted a leopard on the road - but nobody has seen one since. The beach is about two kilometers long, and it's absolutely beautiful. It was low tide, but not with that on-the-Maine-marsh stench. The water looks a bit darker than back home. And the horizon, more final. At low tide, the rocks are uncovered - these enormous collections of sharp stones. Some are covered with black mollusk shells reaching upwards. The water feels the same, though. Imagine that - a million miles away and the sea is moving with the same water.
Today, we went to Kurland Village. I can see it from the driveway, over the valleys of brown and green. They don't use the word "townships" anymore, unless you're a tourist. The smell of sewage, of this aching decay, filters by every once in a while. But the stinging stench of acid and sulfur - the only smell that I couldn't stomach back in Guatemala City - cannot be found. It's because they don't cook drugs here, they use alcohol instead. It's cheap, it's easy. It's also fatal. There are these bags of wine for sale, barely a buck. They scramble up your brain so much, now there's a Surgeon General's Warning, of sorts, on the bag. It says "Don't drink and walk in the streets." Two people have gotten hit and killed that way, just on this road alone.
There hasn't been any rain lately, so the roads in Kurland are dry. But when the rain does come, the dirt just spits it back out. Entire houses drown, nothing to save them. Nothing to do but wait for the sun to dry up the damage.
There isn't much money flowing through the village. Rocky says that he still doesn't know how people find a way to eat here. The only flow of help comes from a few devoted charities. A Safe House - for abused and neglected children - funded by a German woman and her volunteers. Rocky Road - not fishing for them, but teaching them to do it themselves. And a few driven villagers, working with a government that's only fighting harder against them. There's a school, but children need uniforms to attend. When money gets tight(er), that's the first thing to go. There's a creche - a daycare, of sorts - but not enough teachers to look after so many children. There's a clinic, but nobody there speaks the native language. At every step, something to hammer them further into the ground. And this is the way they live.
But still, where the smoke sifts, some light still finds it's way. People smile, they wave and laugh. They sweep their sidewalks, pick up the trash that the wind blows around. They find pride in what they have, and hope to build something stronger.
Last night, a family arrived here. The man, from France; the woman, from South Africa. They met a while back, and now have two adopted children from here.They live in Johannesburg - JoBurg, to all South Africans. The two kids are absolutely hilarious. Max is the older, at six. He has an "M" carved into the hair on the back of his head. Right now, he's wearing a red "Wildcats" jersey. I asked him what the Wildcats are from, and he replied with "High School Musical, of course!" He's smart and social, and we are pretty much best friends now. The younger one, Bella, is three. She's adorable, of course - all smiles and laughs. Both kids are bilingual - french and english. It makes me feel pretty inadequate. They came to teach some of the kids at Kurland about bocce ball, which is HA-YUGE here. We're talking tournaments that yield about 15,000 participants. We drove to the village this afternoon, and I retrieved runaway balls (ahaha.) as the older kids learned to play. After a while, I sat on the sidelines to take pictures. We're trying to gather a collection of videos and photographs here, to make more people understand what Rocky Road does. Of course, these kids have some sort of sonar that attracts them to anyone with a camera. I got about, oh, a bajillion pictures. They love posing, and seeing the picture seconds later. I made friends with this seven year-old, Shanelle, who still had her backpack on. We took pictures together, taught words to each other, and she asked if I would be back tomorrow. Definitely.
I'll be working at the creche, come Thursday. We visited this morning, on a bit of a tour. When Chris and I were walking through the empty halls - all the kids outside - a little girl in braids threw her arms around my legs. I hugged her back, and she smiled shyly before turning away. Once outside, another group of girls ambushed me. They asked for my name, practiced the foreign sound with their mouths. Then, they grabbed hold of my wrist and pressed all the buttons, watching as the numbers changed.
Rocky told me not to get attached, but I'm already wrapped around their little fingers. I just hope I can find the strength to say goodbye. Otherwise, come visit me at Christmas.
(olive juice.)