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outside the ‘young africa’ gate, i sit on a tire with a dozen neighborhood children. rita, the three year old who greets us each morning when we buy bread and bejia, settles into my lap and offers me a battered tangerine, warm from her small fists. i accept, peel the fruit and hand her half, happy with the afternoon sun, good company and smell of citrus on my fingers.

i feel so at home, so myself.

water damaged film from the falls -- the last photos from my canon AE-1, a good friend and teacher for the past two years.

traveling across the zambian country, we approached a small marketplace — a collection of vegetables, woven baskets and livestock. men gathered in shade and children ran here and there, towing kites made of wire and plastic shopping bags. a woman — tall, strong, slender — walked happy through the commerce with a large crate atop her head, filled with flowers in every color.

victoria falls thunder, swallowing me & my camera.

lindsay & john, on the road between lusaka & livingstone.

in amsterdam, we shared an ice-cream and wondered how our months in mozambique would unfold -- who we would be when they were over. i cried a little and thought of home, of our island & the faces of my four-year-old students. i watched the rush of travelers and luggage, feeling american, feeling young and underdressed.