Re-Entry

-Apt. #3-

The wind is howling through the window, occasionally slamming the pantry door shut with a blast of cool, dry highland air. Stepping from the shadowy interior, the nearly-equatorial morning sun welcomes you to the porch. The red, boulder-strewn hillside stands guard over Iringa town as it has for ages.

The furniture is neatly arranged in the living room, awaiting visitors and locals alike. The Africafe & Tea Bags stand ready for use in the corner of the dining room. The pantry is stocked with bread from the local bakery and jam from the Iringa Youth Project.

This is hospitality. This is home. [For a week at least]

Like the industrial haze of Milwaukee and the collegiate gothic spires of New Haven, the concrete grain elevators of Iringa signal a landscape of familiarity. No longer an exotic or distant locale, this area is part of my personal geography. While it will take a few days to ease back into the ebb and flow of life here, I look forward to strolling the streets and wandering the market as comfortably and casually as I navigate the ‘sha.

For now, however, I need rest. Getting to this point has been a long journey. The real adventure is about to begin.