did i tell you everything is shared here? i watch everyday as the parents in the "kitchen" (room 10 with a stove) divide the remaining lunch food equally between them, fighting over who should take the last bit of rice, soup, dumpling to their families. fighting as in trying to get the other person to take more. you take it, no YOU take it. all in tswana. i often eat of the same plate with dikeledi, and have had to stop thinking about washing a spoon before i use it, or pass it to the next person. this is part of the culture... the lack. i watch kids give to each other, a scoop of samp, a finger full of yogurt, a handful of nick nacks. i also watch them fight over their place in line... every time they come to music. over their chair, their spot in the circle. and it's violent... slapping on the head, elbows, sitting on one another. how can a people who share so freely also fight so freely... i wonder?

i stayed with dimakatso and her family last night. we took a taxi back from town after rehearsal. the last one for spornet choir before the competition. their african piece is beautiful, rhythmic, loud, with energy and clicks and sounds our toungues do not know. their mozart is too loud, but they do amazing things without staff notation and experience with western music. incredible musicians.

when we got back to the house with sausage, carrots, potato and tomati, the younger kids danced interchangably to mozart arias and eighties music from the us... some hits i haven't heard in years. i felt free to dance and sing with them and am amazed at the shared music that brings us together easily though our cultures appear to be so strikingly different. i struggle to cut and peel veggies with the same large knife. bongani eats most of the carrots raw off the plate before they got to the pan, but he is so cute, i cannot reprimand him. dinner took long time to cook, with one dull knife and small stove, but time while cooking is sweet and the children content though it is past nine a clock. i peek in the two fridges. they are completely empty and i realize this house with 10 people living here is not as well off as i thought. there are many things to be paid for... dimakats is still paying for the house and car that her abusive ex is using... and the children take trasport to school... which is expensive. the dad just lost his job, and seems to still feel his working daughters should keep his tea cup filled, though they work hard all day.

i sleep with dimi in her treasured room by herself, with bongani between us, keeping me warm and poking me continuously through the night with his kness and elbows. i feel at home once again, and the light that comes through lace curtains onto unfinished walls and ceilings reminds me of mexico city. it is cold cold cold, beloew freezing. but i am ok with all appendages under the blankets.

this morning i talk to dimi as she stands naked in two inches of hot steaming water and soaps her dark skinned body quickly and effeciently without spilling water onto the floor from the small tub. she is not ashamed to stand naked, and i play with bongani on the bed as he watches his mother with big and trusting eyes.

these are cherished moments, and i will remember this family.

i think i will miss this place more becuase it is so far. i cannot easily come back here, and that reality is on my mind during these last days. the next time i come, it will be far more expensive paying on my own. i wonder who will come with me.