Souris Mon Frère, Souris Ma Sœur

  Qui somme nous, d’où venons-nous?

Des questions reliées à notre existence sont parfois importante

Et pourtant, sont parfois ce qui nous retient,

Nous sépare et nous couvre les yeux.

Un tel voile, nous laisse aveugle à de tell merveille que ce monde nous offre.

Le croirais-tu si je t’aurai dit que tu es ma sœur,

Que toi mon frère qui souffre au japon ressens la haine de celui an Libye.

Toi qui écris une lettre d’espoir en bas d’un baobab,

Dans unvillage à l’extérieur du Dakar est recentie

Par celle rejeté d’une voiture dans une ruelle à Detroit.

Il existe encore cet instinct humain qui nous connecte.

Nous pleurons tous, nous rions tous, et oui un jour nous mourions tous.

Cependant la beauté de cette vie nous entour.

Alors prochaine fois que nos yeux croisent souri mon frère.

Un suicide de moins, une addicte de drogue de moins, une âme secourue de plus

remplie d’espoire, de confiance et de foi.

Sourris mon frere, Sourris ma soeur.

 

par Laurenie L.

The pressure is on + An Entry from my journal while in Mali

 

Vaughn in small rural village in Mali 2009

Less than three months left.  I feel the team is getting tired. The preparation is demanding..both on the individual level and as a collective.  The stress cloud of raising the money hovers above our head.  The uncertainty of Senegal is creeping in.  We have lost 3 members and gained 2 others and group dynamics since the get go have been a challenge.

 

and I love every second of it.

Senegal 7: If there ain’t no sweat, blood and tears….well something nah right!  The learning curve is steep but enriching and worth it.  Relish in the pressure and enjoy the tension.  Claim your weaknesses and identify your strengths. Let’s do this properly.

 

Anyhow, I was at my mom’s house the other day and found my journal from my trip to Mali in 2009. If our suscribers like it and show us some love (both through comments and through a little financial support !)  I’ll write some more entries..including my memorable stay at the Malian Clinic.  Enjoy!

 

June 16th , 2009

Paris- De Gaule Airport.

 

A young mother swings her baby over onto her back and in an effortless motion wraps the child firmly around her body with a colourful piece of fabric.  She then pics up her two bags and walks towards the boarding line.  I am going to Africa.  A young boy holds his little brother’s hand firlmly and gives him the ‘keep quiet’ frown.  The youngest obeys and they both stand in line wine with their ticket in one hand, carry-on in the next, all dressed up in their Sunday best.  I am going to Africa. A dread hails the I; his skin clean and dark, his hair and eyes a light brown of experience.  I hail him back and he nods. I am going to Africa.  The long line dwindles down and the intercom politely says that it is this is the final boarding call.  I am going to Africa.