It sounded like the crinkling of paper or the pitter-patter of rainfall. The staccato nature of the noise was just broken enough to disrupt my REM cycle. My eyes opened slowly and I groggily rolled over on my twin mattress trying to make out shapes and shadows in the dark.
Read MorePeace Corps Volunteer
Confessions of a Safe Black Friend: My First Time
in Reflections
Do I hold a grudge against an elementary-school-aged boy whose name I can’t even remember? Of course not. Because at the end of the day, what left the strongest impression on me wasn’t even the words that he said. It was how he said them. His self-assuredness chipped away at my own sense of security. His boldness made me feel intimidated. His aggression made me retreat.
Read MoreOn The Simple Splendor of Sunset
Rwanda ni heza, I whispered to Andrew. Rwanda is beautiful.
Cyane (very much so). Cyane, he replied with such deep conviction, pride and love it brought tears to my eyes.
For Whom The Bell Tolls: The Case for Kwibuka
I come from a country that has a hard time facing its past. Put another way, I come from a place that has a hard time facing up to the brokenness that is found at the heart of a country called united.
Read MoreI Almost Ate a Rock
Somewhere in the midst of the beans and spinach, my teeth met something unrelenting and removing the obstacle I discovered, with some consternation, that I had almost swallowed a tiny rock. The rock-eating incident was evidently an omen of things to come because the road got tougher from there.
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