Home

What would you do, if the only thing you had left of someone was ripped out of your arms? By a force that only wanted to hurt you, it lived for nothing else but your suffering? What would you do?
You'd go after it.

Most people, when they find that they have lost someone, deny it. Their new reality angers them, to the point that that anger boils up like a soup someone left on the stove and had forgotten about. Eventually it over flows. But for me, when I lost that someone, I did the only thing I could do.

I wrote.

It wasn't always like this. At some point in everyone's life there's a happy part, and if the person's lucky, maybe there are several parts. In my life, the happy parts were a sweet seasoning sprinkled out among the bad parts.

I guess I should start by showing you the setting, after all, what's a story with out a setting?


My home is a mesh of things. Cities with electricity, running hot water, cars, movie theaters, shopping malls and water parks dot the country. But drive an hour or two (or three or four depending on the traffic) and you're surrounded by wide open planes with tall grass that glows gold in the setting sun. Trees unique to the continent are sprinkled throughout the planes, you hardly ever see two together and it crosses your mind just how lonely it must be to not have any friends around.
At first glance, the savannah is peaceful. Serene. Like heaven's door just opened and you realize you could look at it until you went blind but you'd never be able to capture it all. Take a closer look.

It's teaming with life! Lions chasing down their next meal, cheetahs lazing about in the shade, leopards watching their cubs climb trees only to fall on their little heads in the end. Zebras roam the planes, enjoying the sweet grass, hippos splash playfully in the river.

And the savannahs are only a fraction of the continent, in fact they're the icing on the cake. The real jewel is the people that make the place what it is. Mamas walk down the dirt roads, balancing baskets of fruit or jugs of water on their heads, while they herd their children back towards home. Men pedal down the streets, shouting greetings to their friends as they pass by. Kids get up at the crack of dawn to start the hike to school several miles away.

It's all in the people. That's what makes up my home. The smiles, the tears, the fact that life is about making friendships and relationships, not about getting the work done. There's beauty here, just as much as there is danger. People look at my home from afar with their up turned noses and a concrete mind set that no one could live there. But let me tell you different; we don't just live, we thrive.

Welcome to the Dark Continent.