I put my bags in my brother's car. When we stopped I wasn't sure if this was a stop on my journey or a quick stop he needed to make on our way to perhaps the airport, perhaps the train depot. He left when I got out of the car but said he'd be back for me.
It was a season of celebration, parades in the street that reminded me of Mardi Gras but people were only mildly enjoying themselves. No cheering or laughter or applause. Sitting on the floor in the main room of a house where women and children lived, I examined colorful art by children. All around me people were speaking in a language I could not identify. I saw so much that I wanted to photograph but my camera and suitcase and cell phone were in my brother's car.
Day turned into night and then stretched toward light again. I wondered if my brother would ever return. I wondered if I'd missed my connection. Only my joy in the children's art felt true and familiar.
