The kids are...

Yesterday we sat out in the sun and tried writing down a few words. Ink went by and some small, lurky faces started appearing here and there. By the time we got to the fourth line there was no way out, we were surrounded.

The hyperactive children in the kindergarten next door have a less discrete way of approaching us. They yell 'Mzungu!' and 'Howayou?' as loud as their throats can manage, dragging down fences and devouring you as a cupcake.

Not a day goes by without a smart kid's face popping up, looking right into our cameras and straight through us. Or just asking for playtime. We're eating and being eaten up. We're in the middle of the soul-food-chain.

Africa's painting our skin and throwing visions at our eyes. We're comfortably lost. We pick up pieces and try putting them together. Pieces of buildings, pieces of conversations. We're animals on display at the local zoo, for wafrica to look at.

We're friends, we're family. We're hands trying to move. But moving can be hard sometimes, especially on african time. Hakuna matata is an important lesson for the volcano spirits inside of us.

The kids are many. They're poor, laughing, everywhere, wild. They're shouting at us and they're hiding behind dusty clothes. They need all the chances this world can offer. They need to build a world of their own and to rely on themselves. They really need to be alright.

For us 'kids' coming from the soap bubble world, exposure is the best way to break down all walls. Our road is unraveling one piece at the time, and we still have a long way to go (so long, so far). We're building it on coincidences, dreams and maps. All maps welcome.