Debating the pros and cons of exotic airlines

Day 7 at CCS. October 1st, 2011. Hard to believe it's already October. No more crisp, fall days, leaves fiery then cool, a new year just begun. Yesterday, I brought photocopies of a coloring book for the children to color. They loved the bird I drew in their drawing packets before, and the teacher requested that I do something like that again. The children loved it. When I first showed them what they we going to be doing, there was a universal exclamation of joy and excitement. Although I'm trying to budget for nine months, I think I was happier watching the little boys and girls use stubby crayons to color multicolored rhinos than I have been yet on this trip. At the end of the activity, after each and proudly shown their works of art, the teacher, a woman I have come to adore, taught them a new chant. In African schools, songs are used as much as paper to teach. She instructed them to clap three times, then say, "you are blessed." I did it along with everyone, trying to help the kids pronounce the last word. They spoke it with a heavy accent, ble-SED-uh. Then, they were instructed to turn to me, hold up their hands, palms forward, and say, you are blessed, you are blessed, you are blessed. I almost cried.Last night, we went out to Glacier, the local bar/night club that's good on Friday nights. We saw more expats than black, and it was an odd feeling to not be stared at constantly.  We danced to American hop hop and pop, and I talked to a teacher from Minnesota with a closely shaven haircut and kind eyes. He was surprised to learn I was only eighteen.  Sat around a string campfire in plastic red coca cola chairs, and listened to a live reggae band that did Bob Marley covers badly. We left in a white van that served as a taxi at twelve thirty, and returned to the house to eat peanut butter and popcorn. I've been in bed all morning, except to grab a small breakfast of an onion omelet. I've laid and daydreamed about New York, and love. I fear I'm becoming a hopeless romantic. Our room smells like smoke from the garbage that they burn out in the garden. Lunch is being set out. Lydie just drew a penis on my foot in blue ink. We often sit on my bed, and read the two month old tabloid magazines. I have a view of the common area from my bed, and we sit behind the curtain, pretending like don't care about what those in the other room think.