Our house smells like mushrooms lately – the House Formerly Known as the House Where All Our Dreams Come True - because if you are gone for two weeks and it has simultaneously rained every day for 18 straight, when you come home the rain will have soaked through the cheap concrete blocks from which your house is constructed and begun feeding a forest of mold on your ceilings and walls, across your refrigerator, in the pages of your books, even the ones you love the most, throughout your shoes, nestled in your bed sheets and on your pillow cases, and like a soft green cake frosting, spread thinly upon all your furniture made of wicker, which is almost everything because, face it, you live in a Land of Wicker.
Some items you will toss immediately, others you will repeatedly baptize in a sacrament of bleach water, and still others you will simply stare at in dismay, paralyzed in your grief, until your prolonged affliction of nocturnal diarrhea calls you away to attend to more urgent matters.
In Mozambique, when it takes 3 days for your cotton underwear to dry, you know it is the wet season.
(I found this picture in the bathroom of Sara's Zambian friend Wezi
where we spent the weekend at his house in Lusaka.)
2 comments:
Dear Friend Brooke,
Such a sad story. If you want to send me a list of some of the items you would most desperately like to have replaced, I'm happy to see what I can in that area.
It was so good to talk to you this week! I bought a phone card, so I'll try again some time soon.
Love and Merry Christmas wishes,
Leslie :)
You say exactly what I want to say on my blogs... Can I just copy and paste?? I'll put you in the credits.
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