Last days in Fula Kunda

"I have walked through many lives, some of them my own, and I am not who I was,though some principle of being abides, from which I struggle not to stray. When I look behind, as I am compelled to lookbefore I can gather strengthto proceed on my journey, I see the milestones dwindlingtoward the horizonand the slow fires trailingfrom the abandoned camp-sites, over which scavenger angelswheel on heavy wings.Oh, I have made myself a tribeout of my true affections,and my tribe is scattered!How shall the heart be reconciledto its feast of losses?In a rising windthe manic dust of my friends,those who fell along the way,bitterly stings my face.Yet I turn, I turn,exulting somewhat,with my will intact to gowherever I need to go,and every stone on the roadprecious to me.In my darkest night,when the moon was coveredand I roamed through wreckage,a nimbus-clouded voice directed me:"Live in the layers, not on the litter."Though I lack the artto decipher it,no doubt the next chapterin my book of transformationsis already written.I am not done with my changes." Stanley Kunitz

Our last week in Kundong Fula Kunda. Next week we move to the dusty junction town of Basse in the far east.