Still in Traffic

I am fascinated by the world that unfolds daily outside of the car window. At home when stuck in traffic, there is little to keep ones attention bar the senseless chatter on the radio and the cramp in your right leg.

60% of the population here is under the age of 18 years old. Kids are everywhere, playing in the dirt and rubbish, carrying loads for their parents, and standing around outside their schools. Most babies can be seen strapped to their mothers backs, contentedly dreaming away the day. One just does not see old people; it is as if they have all vanished.

We drive down a road that is filled with graffiti, finger painted in the dust that cakes the abandoned cars. At its end we pass a free clinic. At least 100 woman and their babies stand around waiting for it to open. They are clothed in bright colours and even though there is a sense of desperation, there is also this joyous sense of hope.

I miss my own children. I feel as if I have abandoned them, swapped them out for a piece of Africa and 15 hour work days. I miss my wife, my other half, and hope that this trip, this small sacrifice of each other for a short time, is the right thing to do.