Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Road to Voinjama
As we travel the road to Voinjama my body moves in rhythm with the bumps and rolls of the land cruiser. We slip and slide through four and six feet deep holes of murky water and red mud. My breath disappears each time we drive over a crest in the road. Lush green mountains, trees fifty, sixty feet tall with long graceful limbs reach outward, and blue sky dotted with huge white unfolding clouds demand my attention. As we sink into the valley the green engulfs us and the grey tree trunks scarred with black scabs and deep wounds bleeding white blood into small cups lining the side of the road speak of years of use. Villages pass quickly -mud huts, shabby stands selling anything and everything, and sadly, once beautiful buildings now with their own blackened scars of untold atrocities and abuse. Most of all I notice the people. Women dressed in multi-colored garb carrying baskets, pales and wood on their heads , men often in shorts holding machetes for cutting road side vegetation, and children some naked and others in neat pink, blue and green school uniforms walk on the side of the road or just sit and look as we speed pass. Their faces, their eyes, their stares grab my imagination and I cannot forget their gaze.