Rwanda

The red dust of the the landscape still clings to me. Over a year later I check the bottom of my sandals to see if any of the clay is still there.

I miss the voices of the morning, the rain on the tin roof, the sound of the kids laughing in the afternoon.

It gets into you and doesn't let you go.

I've been thinking about Rwanda a lot lately. I am working on a photo book for it, trying to whittle down 1,000+ pictures and four months of memories into something tangible. I feel like with this book I should be able to say, "Here, here is what I did...."  But I know it won't be enough, nothing could be.

I miss my friends there. I miss the 1,000 hills and the sounds of the capital. I miss moto rides and the market, the rainy season and the dusting everything gets in the time before it comes.

It's odd, something that changed me so deeply, I have a hard time being able to articulate it fully to anyone else.

How do you begin to describe something you don't fully yet understand yourself?