last night i slept next to nuxie under millions of blankets and a tin roof and held my pee all night as she said i should not go outside to use the toilet in the dark. she peed in a bucket next to the bed, but i decided to hold it.

her daughter is also mosego, the other lorato. mosego means blessing, lorato love. they are 18 and 12, and fight like sisters, lorato gaining the reputation in her house for laziness. she looks at least 15 in a tall and developing body, and her mother says she is worried already about the boys. you must not sleep so much rato, she says... much sleep makes you grow too quickly.

i eat some kind of sheep meat for dinner. it is one of the more challenging things i have tried, but it is nuxie's favorite and she cooked is specially for me, so i ignore the jaw bone (and teeth) on the plate and try to be grateful for this chance to "enter in". pap is the staple here... porridge they call it... a heavy, corn based meal similar to couscous. nuxie says if she ever went to america she will bring her own pap.

soaps are big here... we watch days of our lives, the bold and the beautiful, and generations. these characters seem like friends in the home of people who engage with them twice a day, and we joke about the drama. it IS this way though, nuxie says, in real life. she tells me stories of her exhusband, who left many years ago, and of the other man who she should have married, but who was killed a few years ago. her picture album is full of his picture, and i feel sad for her.

she mutters often about too little money and too much work. i feel compelled to help her, am a bit caught in the awkwardness of us both knowing that my life is "easy" and i have much money. and meanwhile they are generously sharing with me. i admired a photo of nuxie's mother in african dress and she said... "you will get this from us before you leave."

nuxie's mom lives in a larger home a few houses away. she stays there with her other grown children, nuxie is the oldest. they have maybe 5 bedrooms, full kitchen, full bathroom inside and beautiful wood ceilings. her parents used to own some kind of shop... her father too was killed... by a jealous friend. i struggled to understand the story as we walked through the township with children staring.

in the "black taxis" here they play the music LOUD, a type of house groove on the weekdays and gospel on sundays. the driver honks incessantly, hoping to attract passengers and working magic with the gears that grind and hop each time you change them. the people are friendly as you climb over them, and i feel comfortable, reminded of mexico city once again.

i had my facial and massage today. treating myself is shadowed by the knowledge that so many will never have that luxury. i had to almost lie to mosego as we came into town. i did not want her to know where i was going, and that felt wrong somehow.

nuxie says the teachers are upset with kathy for staying in the hadida guest house on the other side of town, and for having the children call her "dr. robinson." they are insulted, i think, that someone would choose not to come and stay in their house. i have gotten several invitations to stay with people now... although i think kathy has decided i must stay with the brothers. it might be a good thing, becuase how can i say yes to someone and not to someone else. these offers are given assuming i will be sharing not only a bedroom, but a bed. and although i am honored by the offers, i cherish time alone and hot showers. this morning was a bit awkward as everyone in the house cleaned, swept, cooked, did laundry and refused to let me help. i finally did the dishes and felt a bit better... i am humbled in realizing you must build trust over and over, negotiating each new relationship with more observation and sensitivity. this is a true challenge.