Glorification of poverty, I know, but still....

You know, in another life, I TOTALLY could've been, well, not a villager, but a market stall woman in some small market town in Africa. Seriously. When it is good, it is sooooooo good.

I'm doing focus group discussions in some of the smaller sites right now. Which meant this morning, I was sitting in the central square of Kinyiba, perched on a wooden bench, chatting with a bunch of elders who just rocked my world.

We were under the shade of the huge mango trees, there was a light breeze that cooled the air just enough as long as you weren't in the sun.

There was no ambient noise at all (none, these non-electrified, non-generator'd towns are startling, disturbingly quiet) except the sound of the little old man and little old lady sweeping the huge market square with branches tied together to make a broom.

Small children wearing no pants and tattered shirts would toddle up and jump in to the lap of whatever adult was nearest, usually offering up some slobbery bit of plastic as a gift in exchange.
I am totally aware that it is a constant struggle and very hot when its hot and very cold when it cold and miserably wet during the rains and backbreaking labor to get a cup of water and no indoor plumbing ever.

But MAN, when you're sitting in the shade, buffeted by the breeze and listening to the sounds of silence, it is a little bit like heaven.