Bush Days

A fellow volunteer paid a visit to my site the past two days. We adventured into the bush (to put it lightly). This adventure deserves to be shared in its most perfect description, but right now I am simply too exhausted and and still processing all of the moments to compose it in the proper way. Also, as Mom and several others have mentioned, my English skilled are beginning to become dreadful, not only the spelling (thanks for the spell check mom), which has always been terrible but I'm beginning to become fluent in Gambian English, which is hilarious but not necessarily a good thing. So I will take the time to perfect the story, and in the meantime...

"Teach your Children"

You who are on the road
Must have a code that you can live by
And so become yourself
Because the past is just a good-bye
Teach your children well
Their father's hell
Will slowly go by
And feed them on your dreams
The one they picks
The one you'll know by.
Don't you ever ask them why
If they told you, you would cry
So just look at them and sigh
And know they love you.

And you, of tender years
Can't know the fears
That your elders grew by
And so please help them with your youth
They seek the truth
Before they can die.

(Can you hear and do you care
And can't you see we must be free
To teach our children what you believe in
Make a world that we can believe in.)

Teach your parents well
Their children's hell
Will slowly go by
and feed them on your dreams
The one they picks
The one you'll know by.
Don't you ever ask them why
If they told you, you would cry
So just look at them and sigh
And know they love you. -- Nash