that Versace could feed a family.

The pidgins here fly so close to your head that i duck every time it happens. No one else dodges them, only me and today in the park I saw one with only one foot. Strange. I sat amongst the view of the city with the mountains standing proud behind it and read documents that will be presented at the United Nations Human Rights Council Universal Periodic Review and I will attend Monday Morning. That's UN talk for huge meetings held to address individual nations problems in relation to human rights. Experts present findings, the governments deny them and the UN draws a line somewhere in the middle and makes demands. It's challenging to read about the world food crisis in a city that is chocolate scented, or about child solders while a group of eight year olds play a soccer behind you. Detachment sure comes easy. It seems strange in a city where I see window displays of shoes that cost more than my whole wardrobe, the largest number of NGO's hold office. It is actually kind of disgusting that a man in an overpriced suit at a board meeting decides what is best for the people a whole world a way, like he knows...like any of us know. We wonder why attempts at development have failed Wonder why there is food crisis at all or why some little boys laugh and play soccer whille others are forced to kill . I bet that Versace watch could feed a family. My lens is changed since going to Mali and am glad I went there first. One night it was pouring rain and a group of us dodged into a cab to escape it. We joked and tried to talk to the cab driver until we came to a red light. Just outside of my window, soaked to the bone was a boy holding his hand out. He was crying a hard steady cry that was visible through the downpour. I think i actually felt my heart hit the floor, and crumble right there in that taxi. We zoomed away in the vigorous Bamako traffic and he stayed there, hand still out, face still wet with a mix of tears and monsoon. The air of the cab completely changed it now was saturated with a mix of guilt, saddness and shame. Maybe this type of memory is what makes me bitter on my rides to work. How can life be so functional one place and so shattered in another? Although I feel myself indulging in this atmosphere the image of that boy is forever burned into my eyes. I will do my best to hold onto what I belive is truth by reading in the park next to a one legged pidgin.