Day 467: And Then There Were Two

By lara, lara@trippingonwords.com

 

Our last bunch of volunteers went home today: Vicki, Emma and Christina all bid a very sad farewell to all the kids here as well as the elders and all the cooking staff who undoubtedly came to know and love them far more than they ever cared about Claire and me. Sad because it’s just so true…I did not really hang out in the kitchen as much as one might have expected. Well, as much as one might have expected unless one happened to know me.

 

I did spend a lot of time discussing lunch in my time here. More specifically which of the crazy children I would eat for my lunch or how all the volunteers tasted for breakfast. These were in response to the eight million queries I received every morning about where X Y or Z were, and when I responded that I ate said white person for breakfast, it tended to give me a rare two seconds of stunned silence. The kids caught on, however, and began telling us all about how they were going to eat claire and Lara meat for breakfast, Which was slightly disturbing. Especially when one child went on to detail how they would cut our throats in order to do so. This is the side effect of people who slaughter their own meat, it turns out.

 

But the girls will be sorely missed in this next week. It was so great to have around people who did not have any actual obligations and who were not trying to get thigns done since they were able to just spend time with the kids without a real agenda. The kids LOVEd this, and spent a lot of time getting away with things that Cliare and I simply didn’t have the time to monitor. Like dance parties. Late night drumming fests with 8 year olds kicking out beats our white selves could not keep up with.

 

A huge thank you to all the volunteers this summer. It was so amazing to have you guys here, and SO unbelievably great for the kids as well as claire and my mentalities. And this extends to all the parents of those volunteers, who make up the majority of our blog readers, I’m guessing.

 

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