Paper lanterns overhead, unlit

Day of the never-ending day and the cucumber condom. October 19, 2011. Went to placement today, as usual, and the children rehearsed their graduation ceremony songs. I sing with them, but my voice has less resonance, and so even though I sing the correct notes, my words are drowned out by forty kids blasting the glory of god across the school yard. I laugh harder and smile more with them than I do with people at the home base. Dan, the driver that now picks Madison and me up after we switched routes, makes me sit up front in his van. He often holds my hand. I feel nothing towards him except a sense of disgust for the men in this country. I don't talk, but listen to the Swahili radio on his stiff blue seat, lined in white. After lunch, Leah, Lauren, Claire, (both the ginger one and the Mormon as they are identified  by all at home base) Jacob, Emma and I were driven by Imma to an orphanage outside of Moshi to paint the walls and draw murals. I drew cartoon characters that are fat and happy and completely out of proportion on the baby blue walls in white chalk. I will start painting the mural soon, covering dirt and handprints and hairs on the wall. Children walked in to see our progress, took a pencil and a sharpener, and napped on the soiled yellow matress below our feet. A group of us went to watch the sunrise from Kibo Tower, the highest building in Moshi that overlooks the whole city (standing at an impressive 10 stories high, not accessible by elevator due to the frequent power outages). Kilimanjaro was in full view, a rare occurrence, and we sat and talked while a group of Sweeds smoked shisha behind us. The sky looked watercolored, the air was breezy and cool, and I watched the fruit sellers from the cream railing as they sa on corners, children on laps, waiting for someone to buy a tomato, one indistinguishable from the vendor across the road. We went out to dinner with guides from Pristine, the safari company we've used for every weekend trip so far. They laugh at our jokes, and make us feel noticed again, witty charming, and interesting. 
I am tired, of writing, of myself, of the bubble that we lie in, night after night. My battery drains, my heart does too. Fulfilling day. I feel like I made a difference, but I know I should be happier than I am.