The trip up north was a whirlwind, which I will write about later as I am only several hours from heading to the airport.
So, for now, a story from last night.We were at a dinner with the NGO we work with to celebrate what was accoplished this trip and the foundation it laid for new work. As much as is possible with the little I have with me, the hair and make-up were done, a skirt and jewlerry on. Before our dinner comes I am straining to hear people as the open night air swollows their voices and one man speaks Belgian French. A different accent that I struggle to understand in any circumstance. Then dinner arrives and I am faced with a half a barbequed chicken and fried bananas. I look at the chicken and attack with my knife and fork. It takes about two seconds before I am stealing glances around hoping, wishing that someone will pick up their chicken with their hands. It seems like a century of attempting to attack my chicken when someone finally puts down their fork and I sigh as it has suddenly become acceptable to dive in with my hands. Oh how I wanted to be in village where I can understand the French and silverware is optional if available.
More from Washington in a day….