Muriel has had her life sculpted and figured out by her well-renowned defense attorney father since she was a child. His Moto: Head down, do your schoolwork, be the best, and always do the right thing.
But what happens when she catches her father wi...
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Age 18 Ollie age 17
PART 1 of 3, JULY:
It's sweltering in my tent. A bead of sweat tickles me awake as it streaks down the side of my face, waking me from my deep sleep.
I sit up stretching my arms wide smiling at what surrounds me inside my tent.
Hanging from the high point of the tent is my battery powered lantern, the mesh windows are zipped up to keep the bright sunlight from waking me at dawn, however because of the Tanzanian heat it seems I'm destined to wake at sunrise anyways.
The villagers start work before the sun is up, so it is only right I get my morning begun even if it is my day off.
Among the floor of my tidy one person tent, my backpack sits in the corner near my boots and water shoes. While beneath the right-side window is my duffel bag of clothes.
I crawl from my thin sleeping bag that I use as a matress compared to something I sleep inside because of the heat I begin packing my backpack with a fresh change of clothes as well as my deoderant, toothbrush and toothpaste, three-in-one shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.
The sound of the villagers talking, laughing, and working is something I've come to rather enjoy. Many would be annoyed at the early morning rituals, but I love it.
Many people say they were born in the wrong generation, however, I believe I was born in the wrong location. This place, referred to as a wasteland by many, is devine. The sun rises in its vibrant oranges and reds as if it's only a few miles away in the sky instead of light-years away, and the savanna plains go on for miles as if they itself were the ocean, unobstructed by sky rises or stoplights. And the people who inhabit this village live off the land and what it provides. Only taking aid by us or other medical humanitarian groups who make their rounds through the central African villages.
This is only my first week on my first mission trip and I can say, with all sincerity, Ineverwant to go back.
The hours are long and stressful and the pay is nonexistent. But, the reward I get from this work is worth so much more than the materialistic idea of 'money'. This is how life is supposed to be. Simple, with no distractions other than to live, be healthy, and be happy.
The rats in my dry dusty hair surely crave something with more nutrients but I blissfully ignore it and pull it up into a tangled mess and tie it off.
Shuffling to the entrance of my tent with my pack in tow, I unzip it and kick my bare feet out, grabbing my velcro sandals from the mat outside of the tent and slip them onto my feet.
I stand from my tent and zip it up stretching again this time standing to the tips of my sandals and letting out a long yawn, as the early morning sun basks the back of my body in warmth.
