Breakfast of champions

There was a storm yesterday afternoon. It didn't seem to last much longer than average, but it somehow managed to drop more water than I had yet to see. Within less than an hour, the tent under which I waited was an island.

Water has never really been much of an issue. I wasn't in New Orleans when nature made an entire city its bitch. I remember watching the relentless coverage with overwhelming detachment. The few people I knew who lived there had enough money and/or sense to leave, and in the end their belongings remained dry anyway.

Since I've been here, I've watched neighborhood after neighborhood be forcibly submerged. Wetness isn't really the primary issue when you watch kids playing in the newborn lakes filtering through enormous piles of trash and shit. I stepped out of my front gate to one of my first strikingly poignant scenes. The street in front had become a river, with a distinct stream of goat feces bobbing along like little black Corn Pops. Wading against the current was a girl no older than four, one ragged strap of her dress resting on her forearm, the other teetering precariously on her shoulder. Her fist was firmly in her mouth, and her eyes were set wide, as if she only observed, and processed nothing.

I went to get my camera and took a few subsequent pictures, but they're all fucked, because apparently the appearance of a camera sends out a subsonic signal to all children within a three mile radius to jump in front of me and punch each other until I futily cuss them out in English and put the damn thing away.

Anyway, I'm glad, because they would have turned out like a print ad for the Christian's Children Fund. The look on the girl's face said everything; she was utterly unaware through what she walked. Interpretation of the photo would have made her look like a victim, and she wasn't. Within minutes of the photo I was helping my host family dig a ditch to drain the yard, and ended up spending a disturbing amount of time in the same water. When we were finished, I removed my sandals and extracted the goat shit from between my toes.

The point? No one complained. Sometimes it rains, and them's the breaks. People old enough to know better busted their ass to avoid walking in that water. But they still throw their trash in the street and let animals roam wherever they please. And when it comes down to it, they'll go knee deep in that toilet of street if they have to. The poignant scene was striking because it was so matter of fact, not because it was sad and depressing. It was my first realization that not everyone believes so strongly in self-determination.

Moving on, it's going to be at least a week and a half before I'm back on here. In a day or two I'm finding out where I'll be serving for the next two years, and a day after that I'll be spending a week wherever fate tosses me. So someone send me an email or something.

Current easy listinin' keepin' me sane: BIG - Respect, Blonde Redhead - Messenger.