Nzige

Cool morning air and powder blue sky

Village awakens, early traders pass by

Aromas of wood-smoke and fresh coffee ground

Doors slowly creak open – the first morning sounds

 

My home is just simple: tin roof, walls of mud

My village: singing and dancing and laughter and love.

Vibrant with colours, like jewels, so bold

Dresses, sunflowers, umbrellas, tainted sunlit dust-gold

 

Always handshakes and greetings and curious glances

Smiles and huge hugs from little kids taking their chances

Ndagukumbuye, warabuze, my sister you were lost

Precious words from dear friends here who love you the most.

 

Bustling market days, fruit piled high

Local and seasonal, sweet, juicy and ripe.

Sellers recline sleepily, lazing at stalls

Chatting, slow trading, till temperatures fall

 

Dazzling bright sunlight scorches the ground

And dust fills the air as the seasons roll round

Then battleship thunderclouds steam in again

Bringing thirst quenching skin drenching cool summer rain

 

The joy when the water’s back, gurgling and gushing

Then hand-washing, shoe scrubbing, sloshing and splashing!

Cold soapy bucket baths, soaking wet hair

That dries in the hazy warm afternoon air.

 

Colours are dimmed in the fading pink light

Children run home as day turns to night

The apricot sun sinks behind distant grey hills

And fires are lit and the air becomes still

 

Then darkness and magic. Bright fireflies

Softly rustling banana leaves. Big starry skies.

My home lit by candlelight. Soft yellow glow.

Glimmering, golden light. Sleepy. Mellow.

 

My village family and friends, so very dear

Know that once I am gone, my heart remains here.
 

 

 

Beautiful rain.

Beautiful rain
Oh, come, never come
Oh, come, never come
Oh, come to me beautiful rain

~ Ladysmith Black Mambazo

Saturday afternoon. The air is steaming as the temperature climbs. My clothes and hair cling to me in the humidity and I know that my dripping hand washing will not be long on the line. We are in the heart of the rainy season, yet the rains just do not come, the temperature instead soaring higher each day, like the birds that circle in the sky, rising steadily on thermals.  The ground is parched and hard and the thick red dust clings to my feet as I walk through my village.

But today everyone senses the rain is coming.

I asked my colleagues whether they prefer the wet or dry season. The thick slippery mud that comes with the rains, or the fine dust that clings in the dry season? Both the mud and the dust make travel to rural villages a challenge. We need the rains they replied. Or the crops won’t grow.

Within this wet season, the rains have been alarmingly scarce. We have had frequent water-shortages, sometimes for up to 2 weeks, and it is not uncommon to see students wandering the village with buckets and jerrycans in search of a water supply. Fill your buckets while you can – because you never know how long until you can replenish your supplies!

Every day, the beating sun has scorched the air to such an extent that my tin roof flexes and creaks, the dry mud walls are too hot even for the armoured spiders to stay in their dark cracks.  And when we have been lucky enough to have a short rainfall I sometimes love to stand until I am drenched and my hair and clothes are cool and soaking and clinging to me, hanging heavy with water.

Now it has been 6 weeks. There have been a couple of cool drizzly mornings where the hills and lake have been lost – hidden in mist. A few heavy downpours mid-afternoon - soaking me, despite my umbrella, and sending the entire village running for shelter - have passed so quickly that by home time the road has already dried and again become hard and ridged and dusty. Once again leaves have turned crisp, beans parched and yellow, the pods dehydrated and withered.

But today there is the scent of rain in the air. Like battleships above me, low storm clouds roll slowly in – the heavy weights of the sky. My neighbours glance upwards, anticipating how long until the sky breaks. They move quickly, washing pans, glancing up, storing firewood, glancing up, moving utensils indoors, closing windows, glancing again at the sky. And as dark wet circles appear on the ground, we grab the washing from the line, throwing it over our shoulders, and dash quickly indoors.

As I pull the door closed behind me, lightning strikes so close that the small space between my house and my neighbours’ is filled with intense, blinding white light. I turn away from the window so as not to see the next lightning strike. Our village is on the top of the hill and it always seems as though thunderstorms unleash their full intensity on the tiny tin roofs of the small rural community here. In the last rainy season, it unsettled me to hear my neighbours describe how scared they had been of a particularly furious thunderstorm. For now the storm is immediately above us and I too feel frightened.

Drilling onto my tin roof, the rain rapidly becomes heavier, until the sound has become deafening, like white-noise that fills my head and my house. The volume notches up, higher and higher. And then it just stops. Like suspense building in a thriller. The sky holds its breath. I find the dramas of nature awesome and fascinating, but the storms here are really terrifying and beyond anything I have experienced.

An almighty thunder crash explodes, deafeningly close, and I can feel the impact of the electrical explosion in the sky above me. With the thunder, immediately there is torrential rainfall, once again pounding my roof, like hooves, as if we have been caught in a migration stampede.

Buckets and basins placed on the ground outside beneath the ends of gutters fill quickly and overflow. Paths have become rivers, splashing and gushing. Dark patches spread slowly down my wall, as water seeps in around my window frames. I check that all my electrical appliances are unplugged, unsure of what to next. In schools, lessons simply stop when the rains come as it is impossible to think, let alone hold a conversation above the drumming rainfall.

There is nothing more I can do and I am glad to climb into bed, beneath my duvet, until the storm passes. Many of my friends here in Rwanda do the same I know. A good friend was telling me that the biggest storms are followed by the deepest sleep.

I wonder whether the rains today will be enough to save the crops that my colleagues mentioned before.

 I hear the drums echoing tonight

But she hears only whispers of some quiet conversation
She's coming in the 12:30 flight
The moonlit wings reflect the stars that guide me towards salvation
I stopped an old man along the way
Hoping to find some old forgotten words or ancient melodies
He turned to me as if to say
"Hurry boy, it's waiting there for you!"
It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you
There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do
I bless the rains down in Africa
Gonna take some time to do the things we never had

 

~ TOTO, AFRICA

Muchaka Muchaka

‘We’ll be meeting at 5.30 for the running…Hazel, you’ll be joining us?’

Now I’ve never considered myself sporty, and although I used to run in the UK (sometimes), it’s not been something I’ve ever got round to here, even though I had always sort of thought it could be nice to!

I thought I had some excellent excuses: a lack of sportswear, it’s far too hot, and I know I’d end up being followed round the village by most of the children here. Everybody here loves sport and they are very curious about my lack of sporty action; I was explaining my reasons to a friend in the village last weekend and I loved his response to my final excuse, ‘But how wonderful that would be!’ He kind of had a point there when I actually thought about it!

My TTC were organising a special commemorative cross-country run, although the students actually run every Saturday morning anyway! Tutors were being allocated to each class of 60-70 students and attention turned to me. Now, I’d say that I already work a significant number of hours at my TTC during the week, plus after class clubs and weekend visits when I am here in the village. I’d also say that 5.30am on a Saturday morning is not really what I’d consider to be within reasonable working hours, so I felt pretty justified mumbling something about having already made plans!

What I didn’t expect the next morning was to wake to what sounded like a carnival procession passing through the village. Each class had left the TTC at intervals of about 5 minutes and they made their way towards the village centre and out towards the hills, passing the end of my road in very high spirits!

The rhythm and pulse of their running and chanting was infectious and immediately filled my head and heart! Having quickly wrapped myself in a kitenge and slipped on my flip-flops, I found myself standing by the side of the road as they passed to wave and cheer them on, house keys in hand; assuring myself that as soon as I had greeted each class, I would walk home and head back to bed!

Except that my students were so surprised and happy to see me, and the rhythm of their running was so strong, that I found myself running along with them, first past the shops and houses as we left our little village, then beyond into the fields.

I can honestly say that running has never been so much fun! The singing and chanting and whistles and shrieks created a beat which everyone ran in time with together and as one singer became tired another took over. Somehow running seemed so much easier when each footstep is in time with 140 other feet (and looking around I certainly wasn’t the only runner in flip flops!) and everyone one around you  is putting as much energy into chanting at the tops of their voices as they are in running.

 

The class ahead of us left the cool morning air filled with orange dust as they’d pounded along before us on the dry road. The sky was streaked pink as the sun crept over the horizon and cast a soft amber light on the houses and people as they went about their morning jobs; sweeping, collecting water, stretching and just standing by the roadside as we passed by.

As I settled into the rhythm I looked at the other students running with me.  Some ventured ahead, turned to run backwards and incorporated dance moves into their running, before falling back within the group. Others practiced their judo kicks as they ran and many others just clapped and sang and ran.

I realised that I’d joined the class in the top year group with so many extremely fit sportsmen, who are at the stadium in the village most evenings as they practice football, martial arts or volleyball! As we continued further and further away from the village I did worry that I’d never make it back, but after a moment’s ‘breather’ at the half way turning point, one of my students took my hand and we ran together and he pulled me back up the hill! As the village came back into view I picked up my pace again and found myself surrounded by children from the village as they joined us for the final push back to the stadium. I wondered how I’d found the stamina to keep up for the whole run, which I’d say was around 7km. Perhaps my nights out dancing in Kigali until the early hours have been of benefit after all!

We ran across the stadium, through the cool grass, damp with dew, and formed a circle, as each class had also done. Within the large circle of students, the children from the village also formed a smaller circle, loving trying to complete each bend and stretch! Even the warm-down exercises and stretches maintained that rhythm and different students took turns to come to the middle of the circle to lead the exercises. Eventually everything descended into a hip-hop style dance–off, followed by a grass fight! We jogged back to college, everybody with huge smiles on their faces, feeling strong! My class did a final lap of honour round the TTC, continuing the chanting at the tops of their voices and it felt like the happiest start to the day ever!

I realised a few things: 5.30 am is a stunningly beautiful time of the day here, it is cool and fresh and a running is a completely invigorating way to start the day. A lack of sportswear is no barrier - nobody batted an eyelid at me and my unconventional running shoes (which were also the shoes of choice or necessity for many other students). My friend in the village was right that running with the children here would be wonderful… and as I left the college to finally head home again, one student approached me to  tell me how  wonderful it had been that I was there and how happy it had made the students that I had joined them. He added, ‘You were so fast, you ran like a fox’!

I think I might have discovered my new favourite thing in Rwanda – Muchaka Muchaka (Swahili).

Reflections

This weekend I have been struck by how quickly my time here has passed, and having only 3 months left of my placement has completely brought to the front of my mind how much I adore my village. Life here has captured my heart. Imagining moving on has only reinforced how strong the ‘tug’ is to remain here.

A late afternoon moto ride back up the hill, through winding, bumpy, dusty roads, hazy golden sunshine and long shadows, past tiny village markets, smiling children running alongside the moto, waving as they try to catch up with me, felt like the best journey back home in the whole world. I arrived into my village to friends who were thrilled that I was back for the weekend and neighbours who always welcome me back like family.

Football shorts hanging out to dry made my heart race as I hoped my little neighbour must be back from school for the weekend. But finding him back with Malaria made me feel as worried as if he was my own little brother and desperate to know if there was anything at all I could do to help. Of course there wasn’t, but despite being so sick, he still wanted to hang out and catch up, as we used to every day before he left for boarding school. I miss him these days.

Seeing him so weak was really tough, yet he was determined to get better really quickly so he could return to school, afraid that if he missed out he’d fall behind with his academic work. I felt so proud of his commitment and determination to keep on top of his studies, even though I thought he should take enough time off to get well again properly. Our conversation left him exhausted and he went back to sleep at home, as I headed out to the market.

I love the ladies at the market! I love how they lie, reclining on their stalls, or under tables to find shade from the sunshine. They wear the brightest dresses and the biggest warmest smiles, with tiny babies bundled up in fabric on their backs. They all call to greet me, know my name and tell me how much I have been missed. The juiciest, ripest tomatoes, mangoes, avocadoes, pineapples and onions are piled into my bag, and then extras are thrown in for good measure and good spirit and they are as generous with their friendship as they are with their fruit and vegetables! They laugh loudly and kindly as they retell stories to each other about my negotiation skills when somebody once tried to overcharge me and I am led by their tiny children, who hold my hand and totter along next to me, from one stall to the next.

We wish each other a wonderful weekend and talk about when I’ll be back in the week, and as I go they are all waving and smiling… and their children walk with me until I leave the market and head up towards college. The children I pass all run across the road and from gardens and along paths to greet me… ‘Good morning Hazel, how are you?’ and although it means my journey takes twice as long, I love to walk with them and chat and hear how they are what they have been doing. Since I arrived, their confidence to use English has increased and they are no longer surprised to see me in their village, or nervous to approach me. Hanging out with them is one of my favourite things here.

This afternoon is absolutely baking and everything is dry and dusty. As I get closer to the college, I notice some fantastic ‘street art’ – pictures of doves have been engraved across the dirt road symbolising peace and hope and I wish I had my camera with me. They are beautiful and drawn so carefully.

It’s good to see my students in the TTC and we catch up, chatting about their weekend as they wash their shoes and dry them in the sunshine. The college is strewn with buckets and bowls in every colour: blue, turquoise, green, red, and washing, stretched over bushes and on the grass, a patchwork of brightly coloured fabric and patterns.

They invite me to watch the football match at the stadium and we spend several hours lazily enjoying the late afternoon sunshine. The college students love football and their friends are there to support them and just hang out and relax. On the other side of the field, children from the village kick a football around, while others play volleyball or just practice handstands! I am thrilled that my S6 students are back from their internships and this is the first time I have seen some of them for about 2 months. We talk about their work experience and they have so many stories to share and questions to ask. They are bursting with energy and enthusiasm and they truly inspire me to give this term a final push to see what we can really achieve. They always make me laugh by using English sayings that I have taught them, but I learn as much from them as well and try to surprise them by using their phrases too.

After the match we wander slowly back up to college and one student insists on carrying my bag, which is full of fruit and veg from my earlier trip to the market. I share some tree tomatoes with them and remember the newspapers in the bottom of my bag that I have brought from Kigali for them. Again I wish I had my camera to capture the moment: my students walking through the village reading the weekend’s papers, completely absorbed in the news!

Arriving home, my young neighbour has woken up from his sleep and seems to be feeling better. I am very relieved to find him with more energy. He’ll be fine I think. My neighbours have cooked for me again - it is ‘Isombe’ which is a delicacy here and really delicious! I know how much time has been spent pounding the leaves in a giant mortar and pestle and I am always touched by their generosity. Their friendship is a gift and I truly feel welcomed as part of their family.

Sunday is spent sleeping and hand-washing. The sun again is hot and high, and the day feels lazy. My neighbour welcomes me to her house to meet her guests and we spend the afternoon chatting and drinking ikivuguto, which is my favourite! It is a curd drink made from whole milk, and is thick rich and very cooling.

Later I see that another neighbour has come round, my tiniest friend with the biggest smile! I adore her and we sit together playing with bubbles, perhaps the first time she has seen them. At first she is apprehensive, but it doesn’t take long before she is trying to blow them herself, tasting the bubble mixture and imitating my ‘ooohs’ and ‘aaaahs’ and ‘wows’!!

My washing dries quickly in the afternoon sunshine and I bring it indoors as fires are lit for cooking evening meals and wood smoke curls through the air.

In this moment I cannot imagine being anywhere else. In my little village, I am surrounded by friends, community, laughter and love. My heart is truly here. My final few months here are too precious and I truly know that I need to make every moment, friendship, memory and decision count, kabisa!

Funny things...

These funny things really tickled me today…

1. I remembered a situation a few weeks ago where I was working with another volunteer in her TTC. We had an open day for local Primary and Secondary teachers to share ideas about active methodology, songs, games and resources. Having gathered a group of teachers together to show them how to play skittles (made from empty water bottles) we explained some of the maths links and opportunities for children to practice turn taking etc. We carefully set up the skittles ready for the first turn and my friend demonstrated how to roll the ball to knock them down. She knocked over most of the skittles, and modelling how to give children praise, I said, ‘Well done! Let’s clap for her!’

One teacher looked at me, horrified…and with a puzzled look on his face, said:

‘Why ever should we clap for her? She has absolutely demolished the game…’!

Fair point!

2. I invited a friend round for tea the other day and asking him how he liked his tea, he replied that he didn't really have a sweet tooth and wasn't so keen on sugar. We started with 3 tablespoons, but he politely asked for a little more after a few sips...but 5 tablespoons was just right! Not a sweet tooth, eh?

3. After work this afternoon I went into the village to head to the market. On my way I received a phone call… one of the mystery calls where a friend (or a friend of a friend who’s obtained your number) calls but doesn’t tell you who they are. I didn’t recognise their number and asked them who they were.

Mystery Caller: Hi Hazel. How are you? (So they knew me)

Me: I am fine thanks, how are you?

Mystery Caller: I am fine thank you.
Me: I am not sure who I am speaking to as I don’t have your number saved on my phone. Who are you?
Mystery Caller: I’m fine thanks. Did you know the exam results have been released? (A colleague perhaps?)
Me: Yeah I know. But, who are you?
Mystery Caller: I am fine thanks, how are you?
Me: I am fine too. But I said who are you, not how are you.
Mystery Caller: I’m fine!
Me: I am glad you are fine. Please tell me who is speaking.
Mystery Caller: Eh?
Me: Who are you?
Mystery Caller: I am fine thanks, how are you?
Me: No… not HOW are you, WHO are you?

And so the conversation continued until my mystery caller ran out of credit and half of my village were laughing at me as they followed my poor attempts to solve my myetery and increasingly puzzled expression…

4. As a white person living in a small Rwandan village you get used to people being interested in you, who you are, what you are doing, how you do things etc. That’s fine and I’m as interested in their lives and culture and ways of doing things as they are of mine. Curiosity is healthy and I love chatting with people in my village. But I think I know most people now and to be honest, after 6 months everyone must be used to seeing me around the village. I walk to work every day, chat to everyone I meet and pass them again as I return home for lunch and then go back to work.  I am always in the market or in church or at the shops. So it surprises me a little that I still get stared at. I’m nothing new here – anymore! Or, have a look… that’s ok, but say hi too, especially if I greet you first. Please don’t just stare!

This afternoon, as I was in my garden, a man walked past my front gate and as he walked along the path, he stared with an intensity I haven’t seen since I first arrived here! Perhaps there was an elephant or something behind me in my garden? He really had to crane his neck to continue staring, even as he continued past my house. I waved and greeted him, but he didn’t even acknowledge me, just continuing to have a good gawp. It made me feel a little uncomfortable. So when he tripped over, disappearing beneath the hedge, I’m afraid I couldn’t help laughing! OK, I felt a little bit mean, but I think there may be a lesson in there somewhere!

5. Enjoying brunch with a friend who spread his bread first with jam... and then with margarine on top! Different!

OK, maybe on that occasion it was me who was staring!

 

Houston, I think we’ve got a ploblem.

Something that you quickly realise here is that for Rwandans (as well as across many African countries apparently), ‘L’s and ‘R’s are pretty inter-changeable, and sound similar to the French 'rrrr'. Within everyday conversation this can cause confusion, tongue-twisters and occasional hirarity! Ironic in a country called R-wanda… often just known as Wanda! So I have friends here known as Frorence, shortened to Frola (Flora) and Emery becomes Emily!

In college, where my students love sport, I’m never really sure whether they are learning or running, and at runch time we all sit down to merange.

And I once had a conversation with a friend at completely cross purposes:

Me:  Are you coming to the party?

Him: No, I’m praying.

Later…

Me: How was church?

Him: Eh? I was praying football with my fliends?

Weekends are sometimes spent in Chigari (‘K’s are also sometimes exchanged for ‘Ch’), where I am often asked about the Crime-rate back home (climate)! Confusing until you work this one out!

I was laughing about the L/R thing with a friend a few weekends ago and comparing funny stories whilst having a beer (Plimus) and eating Plingles!  She has a friend who had actually texted her that he had a ‘ploblem’…so the confusion even extends to writing/texting. However, I quite liked my favourite example of an evening spent with a friend discussing Somalian pilots! Hirarious!

Village Magic!

Where there is love there is no darkness — Burundian Proverb

During my time here, I have been struck by the kind, thoughtful, sweet nature of my friends and colleagues which truly makes life here magical! The quote I’ve used as the title for this blog really captures that feeling.

Greeting calls are common here and an aspect of life here that I love! ‘Hazel, I am calling to greet you, have a wonderful day, bye!’  always makes me feel warm inside because people here are so sweet and thoughtful! I just love it that someone thought of me. However, part of this is receiving 5.30 am greeting calls… which I love a little less, especially on a Sunday morning! But I’d say that we’ve chatted about these and timings have improved a little bit these days!

One morning was REALLY challenging...but then one of my favourite people dropped at by at work just to tell me that they would be like the sunshine to me and always brighten my day. Later in the day, I bumped into my best friend who told me that God would keep me safe and that I would always have a friend in Africa...and I spotted a student at my TTC with a team Hazel t-shirt that he'd got made in the holidays...wow! ♥

Every day I am blown away by the kindness of my friends here... as I walked through my little village a couple of weeks ago, I was presented with gifts all the way and arrived home with 3 passion fruits (my little friend spotted me as I walked along the road and climbed to the top of a tree just to pick me some of the ripest fruits), 2 avocados (another lovely friend told me to wait while she sprinted home to bring me 2 huge avocadoes she’d saved especially for me as she knows I love them) and a corn on the cob, from my neighbours who thought I’d worked very hard and looked hungry! I felt a little bit like I’d become part of a story book – Handa’s surprise or The Very Hungry Caterpillar!

Friends here miss you terribly when you are away, as I often am, working in Kigali or at another TTC. One friend, with an amazing way with language, was anxious that I would not come back after I mentioned that  would be away for a few days and as I left he called ‘Wherever you are, I will find you in the atmosphere!’  I find moments like that really precious.

When you have been away, you are ‘lost’. Friends call or text you to say ‘You are lost’ which means ‘I missed you so much’. I love this phrase and have started to use it… but it also seems to work well in different situations. For example, after a rainy night, I woke up to find that my village was shrouded in mist… it was lost!

But coming back is also very important here and I’m often inundated with messages and visitors to my home or work telling me that I am ‘So welcome back’. Food is brought round as I must be so tired after my journey and one friend brings his bike round in case I want to use it as he knows that I love to cycle in the village. Children call ‘Good afternoon Hazel’ – definite progress from ‘Good morning Sir’ or sometimes just ‘Mzungu’… and they run from miles away, along little paths when they spot me in the distance, just to throw their arms around me and give me a hug.  These things always make it so easy to return here – I love my village!

One night I was unwell in the night and my neighbours came to be with me just to make sure I was ok, and they returned the next day to check on me and bring food, dashing home in their break and lunchtimes. Colleagues also come round to make sure everything was ok ‘We need to see that you are ok…you are far from your home and we will look after you. We have prayed for you and we see that God has answered our prayers as you are getting better. Now we will leave you to rest’. Just knowing how much people care actually makes the world of difference here.

When I arrive at a new town, or I’m just lost in Kigali, people will come out of their way not only to give directions but to walk with me to my destination, before wishing me a wonderful day and continuing on their way. Sometimes they enjoy the opportunity to ask about my life and work and practice their English, but often it’s simply a kind gesture – nothing is too much trouble, it seems. It’s also not uncommon for people to discretely pay your bus fare on the bus – ‘You are a guest here, it is my pleasure to do this for you’.

As well as experiencing incredibly kind behaviour by friends as well as strangers, I frequently find that I’m in the middle of a truly special moment – magical times in my village with friends or neighbours.

Occasionally I go to church, when I am in the village on a Sunday morning. A time for quiet reflection and singing and dancing. People here love it when I go and I often find myself accompanied by new friends from church as we walk back into the village after the service. One morning a lady introduced herself to me and we chatted in Kinyarwanda as we wandered back the centre of the village. She was really happy that we were together and we continued to walk together, sharing my umbrella, even as it started to rain. But as I looked back, I discovered that we were not alone, in fact about 20 other people, adults and children had formed a procession behind us and the image has stayed with me of the trail of brightly coloured twirling umbrellas!

There are two rainy seasons here and I have adapted to the changing seasons.  I adore the enormous thunderstorms that roll over the village most afternoons. My Rwandan friends are definitely onto something by going back to bed when it rains - you really can't beat curling up in bed during a thunder storm as the rain hammers on your tin roof... and emerging later to blue skies and sunshine for a late afternoon walk...the village full of umbrellas, cool air and muddy puddles!

Towards the end of the last rainy season, the village became full of sunflowers, which stood tall and striking, against bright blue skies or thundery clouds. The yellow flowers were a beautiful contrast to the green banana trees and red muddy roads.

There are so many other little things that really make my day: a text from a friend one evening asking the meaning of Fuzzy and wishing me a wonderful night, an invitation from another friend to join them swimming (‘It would double my happy’), laughing as the moto drivers have races through my village when business is quiet, sitting with my neighbours shelling beans while they braid each other’s hair, dancing together in the moonlight, chatting with students in college who are desperate to read, and with friends in the village who ask me which I love the most…the moon or stars… and why?

 

Being here, I am always reminded of another saying I heard once (In fact I read it before one of my trips to India)...

 

Love wasn't put in your heart to stay

Love isn't love 'till you give it away.

 

... and I think its true here every day.