Building from the Top Down

One of the other schools I was able to visit in Arusha was a private Secondary school for orphaned youth called Peace House Africa.

There motto is ‘Educate. Nurture. Innovate.’

My first question for a school, organization or non-profit is always, who is funding? Who is behind this mission? This response alone is a far-reaching indicator about the nature of the work.
Peace House was started by a missionary and his wife who had sold off a successful bioengineering company and wanted to invest it into children in need in Tanzania. They worked together with the support of the Lutheran Diocese, a Rotary group from Minnesota and many short-term American volunteers and private donors – which they call volontourists. In just three years they have built a beautiful, well kempt campus about 5 miles outside of town, which now houses and educates 244 students. That is a large number of students. Each student was screened, in order to ensure that the applicant was indeed parentless and/or in need of support in order to successfully complete school.

Unfortunately the students were in the midst of an entire consecutive week of exams during my visit, so I was not able to visit any classes. Peeking in the rooms I saw upward of 40 desks per classroom, each pupil studiously leaned over their test. Tanzania, like many other countries in the world suffers from over-testing due to National requirements. In very much the same way that ‘No Child Left Behind’ surged the frequency and significance of multiple-choice tests. Here at Peace House if a student does not stay above 45%, they will be removed from the school and provided school fees for a public school. Of course that does provide incentive to succeed, but there are many other contingent factors that determine their ability to success. Like, who are the teachers? And are they being adequately prepared to think? Or just to memorize what will be on the test?

In Tanzania, like many other countries, the teachers themselves are not exceedingly qualified. They themselves have gone through an education, even higher education, that consists mostly of rote learning. They are teaching using English medium, yet, perhaps they never mastered the language due to poor instruction. I was able to speak to the Peace House Head Mistress, a Tanzanian woman who has worked in schools for over 15 years, she harped on this issue saying that one of the greatest challenges is hiring teachers who are ready to learn.

“You have to really cook someone.” she said, further articulating the need for teacher training. She used many buzz-words like, ‘student-centered learning,’ making ‘problem solvers’ and ‘critical thinkers.’ But these are words that are all too often thrown around, but very rarely put to use in such societies where the classroom modus opperandi is so deeply ingrained. I can see in her face that she struggles with this. Despite the challenges of classroom dynamics and teaching to the National examination, the school is doing a thorough job at keeping the students engaged on many other levels. They have sports teams, academic clubs and extra curricular activities as well as a very impressive school paper. Each day there are student led devotions and a requirement to attend Church.
And the Muslim students? I asked.

Yes, we have some – but they have to attend Church too, said the sweet
American girl who gave me a tour.

“We want to be the best school in the country…Even in East Africa.” The Head Mistress said to me with a smile. And you can feel that they do, they are quite obviously working hard to get there. And as I am looking around and reading, I am wishing that I wasn’t such a skeptic – yet this is a very stunning example of a top-down approach to school building. First there was money, a school and hundreds of students, and now they are slowly building their mission, their concept. This is not to say that they are not doing unbelievably noble and much needed work. They also have a scholarship program that has been providing school fees and uniforms to disadvantaged students for over 7 years. They are making an impact.

One of their volunteers was delighted to tell me more about another school in the area that was also started by a foreigner, a woman I once met on the subway in New York. The Indigenous Education Foundation of Tanzania is an entirely different model, on a much smaller scale. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to visit the school myself, but the girl who spoke of it starkly stated that it was a successful, bottom-up approach. She said they were certainly not working with so many students, but that the students were lively, engaged and had highly impressive English. When a program begins with the students in mind, and builds slowly up, it is much easier to manage, to maintain and evolve the mission. The woman who started it is often still there, and has decided to employ numerous overseas teachers, which is a debatable choice, but surely integrates new models of learning and better English.

I think Peace House holds immense potential, yet like other development initiatives it is always worrying when a program is so dependent on private donors and outside sources. They are definitely looking for ways to become more self-sustained, to increasingly grow and cooperate on a local level. This want is well represented in the development of their organic garden, which some of the students choose to work on. The school has a great deal of very beautiful land and many mouths to feed, including those who are HIV positive and must eat a balanced meal – this is one solid step in the right direction towards springing upward, from the ground up.

Greet Me

I am an elder

and my skin folds

into weathered creases,

scars tell stories of manhood rites

take my tired feet

look into my eyes

orbed with faded blue

Greet me

I will smile

and for a moment our souls will meet in time.

I have been working in the shamba

digging the earth’s crust

with my hoe,

worrying about the rains

and the meal I will cook for

for my five children

after walking home along this dusty path

Greet me

I will smile

and for a moment I will forget.

I have been at school all day

sharing my desk with two others

copying notes from the board

heeding my teacher’s unmelodious lecture

wearing my uniform of blue and white

embroidered with the motto

“School is light”

Greet me

I will smile

and say ‘Good Morning!’

[Even if it is afternoon]

I am a Muslim

have been at the mosque

where I pray dutifully

to Almighty God

The divine, the merciful

for whom I wear this black burqa

and a downward glance,

Greet me

I will smile

with my eyes

I am Massai

these are my herds

eating the tattered grass

while I stand tall

in my garbs of royal purple and red

leaning on my stick

with poise

Greet me

I will smile

a teethless, proud grin

I am a fisherman

sitting beneath my hat

in my canoe

once carved from a tree

I work by darkness

slowly pulling in my livelihood

on a line

Greet me

I will smile

and show you my scaled treasures

I am a cripple

sitting in a chair

peddling wheels with my hands

sweating in the hot sun

I am lucky to have

all that I do

look at me as a man

Greet me

I will smile

and laugh! You do not need to pity me!

I am a woman

dressed in vibrant colours

that sway with my walk

a crown of fabric

halos my head

held high

You are a stranger in my town

Greet me

I will smile

and we will be better acquainted

Greet me, sister

and we will be better acquainted.

-Pictures and words by me.

The wisdom of youth

After a brief and most wonderful weekend Safari with Ethan and some friends I was able to visit a few schools. I started the day at Saint Constantine’s International, where a new American friend teaches six year olds. It is one of three International schools in Arusha, and used to be the Greek school. The school starts at infancy and goes up to A levels. Their school being the least expensive of the three schools means that there is greater diversity of people and more accessibility for Tanzanians. Ms. Sophia, the children’s teacher has told me about her group over the weekend and I quickly notice them in the schoolyard early in the morning. They welcome me into their classroom, all with sweet, six-year-old openness and polite English.

Sophia runs her classroom in an American way, engaging the students in classroom discussion, group work and student-led presentations. Her kids have quite obviously thrived in the environment. They are also six and need to be free. During a math quiz the other day one of her students, an overt dreamer, raised his hand and asked permission to dance. Ms. Sophia allowed him. This makes me smile, aware that there are so many teachers that would not give their blessing to this kind of request.

The class commenced with a word on diversity. What is it? Sophia asked. A few hands were raised and some very apt responses ensued. Then we all introduced ourselves. There are fourteen children in this class and seven countries of origin represented; Chad, Indian, Lebanon, Rwanda, Sierra Leone, Tanzania and their teacher from America. Christianity, Islam and Hindus. And though an obvious range of capacity, they work so beautifully together. They are not yet at the age when they discriminate or taunt each other.

This year Ms. Sophia had introduced the topic of genocide, or tribe, I’m not sure which one came first in their conversation – but the two go hand in hand. The students were highly interested in the issue and an active discussion took place. She found it interesting that some students were aware of their specific ethnic group, while others had no idea. The three girls from Rwanda were not aware of their tribe, which, as you may know is of high consequence in their country – where there has been a tragic genocide of over 500,000 people, largely Tutsis, by predominantly Hutu supporters of the government. This historical mass is highly complicated and colored by the Belgian colonies, who, upon leaving, declared the slightly creamier skinned Tutsis as the Governing force. Ms. Sophia didn’t go into specifics about this genocide or others, keeping it simple enough for her young ears. However, upon returning home, all three of her Rwandan girls asked their families from which tribe they were. One of their family members approached Sophia with force, telling her that ‘'We are Rwandan’ and not to engage such topics as ‘tribalism.’ The other girls couldn’t remember what their parents had told them by the time they reached school.

Teaching matters of genocide, social justice and diversity is a highly imperative matter for our era. We cannot avoid these topics. Yet, we must learn how to approach them, slowly and with support of our administrators. It shouldn’t be a topic that is suddenly introduced when students are ‘old’ enough. These difficult themes must become part of the dialogue at a young age so that later on students are able to think meta-cognitively about such critical subjects. I do recognize and try to understand that it is also difficult to approach themes that engage words like, ‘tribe.’ I learned in many of my African studies courses that this word, in its historical legacy has gained negative connotations related to colonialism. Yet, it’s hard to teach when carefully stepping around words and themes that could be offensive to someone. We can only learn history in its depths and engage in dialogue without fear or pride, so we might move toward competency in dealing with diversity – I don’t know the answer, or the way. But one thing I know is that we all have something to learn from the compassion and aptitude of a six year old.

Also, it should be noted that there are over 120 tribes in Tanzania, with equal proportions of Muslims and Christians as well as those with animist beliefs - However, I have still never been in such a nondiscriminatory place, with a history and general feeling of peace and cooperation.

Making Family

Walking back through the market I saw the elderly man I had greeted earlier, the alley ways, lined with stalls were closing down for the evening and I moved to one side to let him pass. He grabbed my hand. Not like an offender would grab a woman, but like a father would hold his girl’s hand. Firm, but loving. ‘How are you baba?’ I greet him again, calling him father. He does not stop holding my hand as he begins to welcome and question me. How am I? Why do I know Swahili? Where do I stay? I ask him questions in return. He is looking intensely at me. I feel utterly at comfort with this old man, his hand gripped in mine. He tells me I should teach Swahili. I tell him I am confused at the moment, unsure of my course of work. He squeezes my hand and opens his eyes wide, “What is your true Desire?” He asks emphatically, this time in English. “What do you want to do?” I answer him with words, but really there is a conversation going on underneath. He really does feel like family. He is treating me like his daughter, or his niece. He is making me feel special and able, and my love of his language and culture is making him feel radiant. The sun is going down, the market is slowing. Instead of saying goodbye we both announce that we are happy and we thank each other. It is my first day in Kigoma, I have been here for only a few hours.

Kigoma is on the north eastern shore of Lake Tanganyika, the deepest lake in Africa and the longest freshwater lake in the world (although I don’t have running water in my hotel today;). The Democratic Republic of Congo, Burundi and Zambia also share borders along its shore, and that is why Kigoma has become a major transit for and home to countless refugees hailing from conflict areas in the region. Presently there are only two camps left, in towns just north of here and a refugee transit center in town. Yet, the presence of aid workers, the UN and refugee organizations are still distinctly visible. Within my first few hours here I saw upward of five white land cruisers bearing the emblem of the UNHCR, The United Nations High Commission for Refugees. The area seems rife with various types of aid, conservation efforts as well as missionaries, especially from Germany and America.

Although there has long been a foreign presence here, dating back to the famed Dr. Livingstone in 1886, the area remains rather undeveloped, mostly due to its isolation. Apart from missionaries and aid workers, there is one other group of people that hold increasing interest in the region – the Chinese. I sat next to three Chinese on the plane ride over from Dar es Salaam, one of them spoke to me; He has been in Tanzania for 10 years, but doesn’t like it, he is in the lumber business, buying a hard wood from Tabora in Western Tanzania to sell for first-rate furniture in China. In Arusha as well the Chinese are visibly funding the construction of a brand new road that will lead to Nairobi. There was an effort to bring more electricity to this area, however, nothing has gone forward due to protection of innumerable species endemic to the Lake.

Luckily one of the stronghold personalities of this area is Jane Goodall, not only does she have her famous research center at Gombe stream, but she also has an educational institute and a branch of Roots and Shoots here. Her revolutionary work as a primatologist and environmental protection work has likely established a conservation mentality here. While I am so close I hope to be able to visit Gombe Stream, the area where Goodall commenced her work with chimpanzees, though it remains Tanzania’s most out of reach and expensive park – So, I’m looking for the best option in order to make it work. Where there is a will, there is a way. Either way, I know I am in the right place. The complex, fascinating and welcoming community, the presence of aid workers and missionaries and the breathtaking view from my hotel room, overlooking a lake with such reach that it could be a sea – though, if you squint, the mountains of the DRC paint the horizon with a soft blue. Three shades of the same hue, eggshell blue sky, mountain blue meets ocean. All surrounded by vibrant greens hillsides, which are fed with veins of red earth pathways and roads. There is a great deal to investigate.

Deconstructing the box

Rote: n. mechanical or habitual repetition of something to be learned

When Ethan Kinsey isn’t on Safari he is training candidate guides to become experts in their field. At the moment he is working with about 20 guys, doing both field and in-class training about animals, birds and ecosystems. Yesterday he was describing the difficulty of teaching his Tanzanian men, despite their keen minds and aspiration to learn. He explains that they haven’t been taught to read, and discuss in order to understand. Their experience in the classroom has consisted of fear and memorization, Ethan states. It makes it difficult to have engaging conversations about the concept they are learning because Ethan doesn’t teach by writing definitions on the board to be repeated back verbatim. He wants them to deliberate and to really understand the impressions beyond the words. He struggles with knowing how to test them – as his style of teaching is so new, many of them are not performing well.

This archaic method of rote learning can be witnessed in classrooms across the African continent. Most times they are taught in English, and like the language, rote learning is a legacy of colonial times. The teacher dictates, writing the lesson on the board – the students copy down the notes. The teacher asks a question, the pupils, perhaps all in unison, upon standing, will recite the answer exactly as it was written on the board. Maybe they will raise their hands, one will be called on and say something slightly different, perhaps their own take on the word, or changing the order of the response. ‘No’ The teacher will proclaim, calling on students until the satisfactory answer is recited. In Ghana and other countries on the Gold coast they clap for one another when the answer is correct – there are different melodies for the different regions of the country.

As the majority of learning is done in this manner many do not have a real grasp of how to read and understand. Literacy, Ethan and I discuss, has such a broad scope. While some have learned to read, they may not have been taught how to makes sense of the words they put together. They may not be able to defend their opinion. Not all schools in Tanzania are like this, but the majority of the government schools are. Here in Arusha though, there is more diversity of people and therefore, more reach in kinds of schools. There are three International schools, and numerous privately funded ones. So much of the curriculum is based on the values of the benefactors. In one International school, which used to be the Greek school, the children are reading by age six and taught by comparatively progressive, western teachers. I met a few teachers of this school at a gathering of young expatriates, friends of Ethan. Their teaching experience is relatively democratic and innovative compared to the frustrations of others, who work in local schools and orphanages, where the children do not ask questions, even if they do not understand, even if they are failing.

Ethan goes on to tell me that even in University, the structure of learning remains the same. I believe it, last year, on my education course in Ghana I was explained that college courses were performed in great lecture halls – with not enough seats. Again, your success did not depend so much on what you read, but what you were able to hear and copy down, word for word in your book, in order to regurgitate the information for the final exam. The people who graduate from these schools are running the country, and government.

Rote learning is so different from progressive, western-style education where you are applauded for thinking outside of the box. But even in our self-proclaimed ‘democratic’ educative system in America, are people really taught to think critically? In many schools, yes, but not in most. In the past decade and with ‘No child left behind’ teachers are forced to stay closely to the curriculum in order to prepare students for multiple-choice examinations. This constant pumping of information leaves little time for free-thinking, for meta-cognition, for discussions and questions. It is a global pandemic in a time when we must be building minds that can think innovatively enough to sustain human development and solve the problems of our era. In order to do this youth will have to resist from harmonizing together the affirmative, “Yes, teacher.” And move toward questioning, “Why?” and “How?” or challenging the teacher when they are told something that is not true. But before that is able to happen we must first eradicate the fear. This will require confidence, first of the teacher then, the students may follow.

My cup is full.

The Kinsey family live in the fecund foothills of Mount Meru, one mile above sea level. They live on a compound where they grow most of their food, have goats that supply milk for yogurt and cheese, beehives and an abundance of brightly coloured flowers that flourish amidst the greenery. The only sounds you can hear are of birdcalls and flight, buzzing of insects, roosters, cows and always children playing in the distance. It is a true paradise here and it couldn’t be so without the foundation of a beautiful family and a great deal, and long legacy of Love.

Erwin Kinsey came to Tanzania just after receiving his B.A. in animal science from the University of Vermont. He was very young, and sent to work as a dairy advisor on a large governmental farm in the Southern Highlands. A relatively new non-profit was providing livestock and technicians to this government breeding ranch, which, more than 30 years later is well recognized as Heifer International. Erwin later became the program director development in Tanzania and eventually the Africa regional Director for Heifer International.

Heifer International has become active in over 100 countries, providing livestock to individuals and families. It was founded by Dan West, who was distributing milk to people left poor and hungry by civil war – when he had the revelation, “Not a cup but a cow.” This notion has evolved into one of the most successful, and sustainable rural development programs in Tanzania. In the following days I will give more time to this work and what he is doing now, but first let me give you a picture of the whole family.

Erwin met Esther in the Southern Highlands, where her Swiss parents ran a coffee plantation. Her Great Grandfather arrived in Tanzania in the mid-twenties. Esther was a dedicated nurse, and midwife. After some time Erwin and Esther were married, and together moved to Northern Tanzania where they raised their family together. They had three boys, Ethan, Elliott and Eric, whom are undoubtedly African. When I met Esther in 2004, she immediately embraced me and I instantaneously adored and admired her. She carried the role of Matriarch with grace and power, caring for her mother who was bed ridden with dementia, making feta, yogurt and ice cream from the Nubian goats they raised (and selling it at a local school), concocting homemade calendula from her garden, baking bread and generally running this beautiful home and family. In my heart I felt deeply moved to quickly return to Tanzania and do an apprenticeship with Esther, on how to be a mother, a Christian and how to prepare such delicious cheese, among other things. Sadly, soon after I left Tanzania the Grandmother passed away and six months later Esther was diagnosed with advanced cancer. She battled and was treated for about a year before passing away soon after the whole family had been on a great Safari together. Their whole community supported them in love.

Back in 2004, when I showed up unexpected to their family holiday with their eldest son Ethan, they welcomed me with open arms. Ethan and I had met at the Safari camp where I had worked for a season. He had come to take over my position as manager. His first day in camp I remember climbing up on the thatch roof of one of the bandas with my binoculars, he was on a rock, with his binoculars, watching birds – I was staring through mine at him. Within days we had kindled a closeness I had never felt before and shared a powerful and swift romance, mostly amidst the magic of the bush. We were both immensely excited by the small things around us.

Although our time together was somehow brief and our romance ended when I returned to America I have always felt very close to Ethan, and great gratitude and love for his entire family. Their model of Christianity was inspiring and quite unlike any I had, or have experienced since. It is full of truth, love, compassion, community and deep faith. All of the Kinsey men are very talented, but altogether modest. I feel utterly blessed to be here again, to awake early and drink coffee (which comes from the same plantation that Esther’s father began) with the boys, to watch the birds and insects and to feel and know so clearly that God is alive in everything. I look forward to talking to Erwin more about his insight on development, he now runs an NGO that supports farmers in turning to organic farming and sustainable agriculture. Ethan is training guides to be experts in the bush and with clientele, and also runs his own Safari company (see ethan-kinsey.blogspot.com). Elliott is doing community development work in hunting areas and Eric is working at a gelato shop in Arusha (for now).

Everything changes

I had every intention of heading to Kigoma by today, which lies in the far far west of the country. Then I discovered that it is not advised, and quite nearly impossible to venture the thousand miles by road. And the train route is only for those 'who value not their comfort, nor their possessions.' So, I decided to fly. Air Tanzania is the only airlines who makes the flight to Kigoma and had not been operating for over a week because of heavy rains. I heard this through word of mouth, since the ticketing office number was out of service. So, I went there today and discovered that there are no flights until the end of the week.
Everything changes, and so must I.

Luckily I felt inspired by a beautiful interaction with some students today. It was the first school day I have had since my arrival! Finally all the beautiful kids out in their pressed uniforms, white shirts and pleated shorts/skirts. As I was taking the ferry into the city I met three girls who go to Kigamboni Secondari, they must have been about 14. At first they were shy with me, but slowly slowly we began talking opening in a mixture of Swahili and English. Soon, we were friends. The motto at their school is 'education is freedom,' as written on the pocket of their school shirts, beneath the emblem. One of the girls began excitedly telling me about her view on her country, the corrupt nature of the government, problems of poverty, the need for education. She tells me the definition of 'absolute poverty' in perfect rote recollection. She wants to be a lawyer and I am already convinced that she is able.

I don't know much about the current Tanzanian government, but I am beginning to hear things. I hear that it isn't very different from the last one. And from my brief time here thus far I can see that there haven't been great infrastructural changes. For example, as I am talking to these girls we are on a ferry. For more than 10 years there has been plans and funding available for a bridge to be built over the small waterway that separates this peninsula from Dar Es Salaam - however there has been no headway. So, these girls, like the thousands of other people that cross the water using the ferry - spend a great portion of their day lining up and waiting to cross for work or school. It is just one small example of unrealized government-backed development. But now, crossing the ferry in the sun, talking to the girls about their views on education I am also grateful that we have this time shared together to talk.

As I cannot go to Kigoma this week, I will go to Arusha tomorrow to see an old friend in the foothills of Mount Meru. I look forward to talking to more students there.

Mission: Journey is the destination

”What I do you cannot do; but what you do, I cannot do. The needs are great, and none of us, including me ever do great things. But we can all do small things, with great love, and together we can do something wonderful.” – Mother Theresa

Landing in Dar Es Salaam brings me joy in a similar, abrupt way as getting the wind knocked out of you. The beautifully robed Emirates flight attendants open the back door and a gust of warm, thick, wind enters the stagnant air of the plane – Instantly I know I am in Africa. Climbing down the stairs to the ground, the sun beating down and every Tanzanian airport attendant greets us with a smile. Their greetings are sincere, and when I respond in Swahili, they welcome me. The first foreigner I see is in front of me - she has numerous Tanzanian stamps in her American passport and so I talk to her. I discover she is going where I am going.
“Do you live here” I ask.
“I’m a missionary,” she responds with bright, wide eyes. "I come and go."
I always wonder what that means, to her, to the people she encounters. It can be so many different things ranging from Mother Theresa’s noble work and people who dedicate their entire lives to being part of a village in need, to the southern accents I’ve heard on return flights from Africa, loudly speaking on their cell phones upon landing,
“…We’re safe. Yep, a real success, we got 500 souls!”
But this girl seems genuinely honorable in her work. It makes me want to understand more, and judge less. Because it is easy to be a watchdog of some truth, but often times when we look deeper, our preconceptions are broken down. There has indeed been a long legacy of people bringing the word of God to this continent. Like any work, some of it has been good, some of it lost to ill faith.
This same sweet girl in front of me turns around and asks with eyes wide with wonder, and perhaps a touch of envy.
“Are you traveling alone?”
We go on our ways, each doing our own thing, in our own way. Mother Theresa said “if you judge people, you have no time to give them love.” In my experience of Tanzanians, in their aptitude for greetings and their faith in God, they choose to love. One of my goals for this time is to become informed before making judgments (of course I will do my best to love the people I encounter). It seems always and ever more important to not only love, but also to look deeply at what is before you, whether it is an education program, a government or a new person. One of the best way to do this is through using a practice that my boyfriend’s family is very good at…Ask lots of questions! This is what I am here to do.
I am safe, well and grateful for all the love and support I have received. I am presently getting over jetlag near the sea before embarking further.

A poem, by Li-Young Lee

Self Help for Refugees
If your name suggests a country where bells might have been used for entertainment
or to announce the entrances and exits of the seasonsor the birthdays of gods and demons,
it’s probably best to dress in plain clothes when you arrive in the United States, and try not to talk too loud.
If you happen to have watched armed men beat and drag your father out the front door of your house and into the back of an idling truck
before your mother jerked you from the threshold and buried your face in her skirt folds, try not to judge your mother too harshly.
Don’t ask her what she thought she was doing turning a child’s eyes away from history and toward that place all human aching starts.
And if you meet someone in your adopted country, and think you see in the other’s face an open sky, some promise of a new beginning, it probably means you’re standing too far.
* *
Or if you think you read in the other, as in a book whose first and last pages are missing, the story of your own birthplace, a country twice erased, once by fire, once by forgetfulness, it probably means you’re standing too close.
In any case, try not to let another carry the burden of your own nostalgia or hope.
And if you’re one of those whose left side of the face doesn’t match the right, it might be a clue
looking the other way was a habit your predecessors found useful for survival. Don’t lament not being beautiful.
Get used to seeing while not seeing. Get busy remembering while forgetting. Dying to live while not wanting to go on.
Very likely, your ancestors decorated their bells of every shape and size with elaborate calendars and diagrams of distance star systems, but with no maps for scattered descendants.
* *
And I bet you can’t say what language your father spoke when he shouted to your mother from the back of the truck, "Let the boy see!"
Maybe it wasn’t the language you used at home. Maybe it was a forbidden language. Or maybe there was too much screaming and weeping and the noise of guns in the streets.
It doesn’t matter. What matters is this: The kingdom of heaven is good. But heaven on earth is better.
Thinking is good. But living is better.
Alone in your favorite chair with a book you enjoy is fine. But spooning is even better.
*You can listen to this yourself by the author himself, here