To the Ark in the night
Ok, so the meeting ends and in the chaos of poorly planned triaings (sorry guys, you know it's true) I've found myself in the group labled "ready to go into the field tonight" "ready" is an extreme exageration. I'm given a map, three companions, and enough non-perishable food to feed . . to feed . . . to feed people who are not skilled in camp cooking.
We all load into my truck. the brother and sister pair from central new york tangle their long legs into the only slightly extended cab of my truck, sitting next to me in the passenger seat is Dan. Later I will learn that Dan is 69 and has traveled the world, aid work is his hobby and addiction (it seems).
But, upon first seeing Dan, I was transfixed. I'm still rather disturbed. His jeans, his hair, and his humor quickly call Tom to mind. In fact it takes me untill thursday to remember that his name is not Tom. I think I've probably just been looking for Tom since November and this lanky guy with CPT experience is too easily transformed. The whole drive to "the ark" I had to keep asking Dan questions, I was trying desperatly to create him as his own person make him "not tom." I didn't cry.
The four of us drive south, despite being dark it's still hot so all the windows are open and conversation is difficult. Off the highway and toward the town of Arivaca we see a Deportation Bus, waiting to be filled up, I wonder how long the passengers have been sitting.
In four wheel drive, up and down bumpy hills in the dark we make our way to the ark. I really have no idea what "the ark" is. Arriving in the night, I determine it is a canopy, some trucks, a camping trailer or two, few cots, and people. The people mostly exist as flashlights.
An aging hippy, way to reminiscent of a contradance nightmare, tells us how to use the toilet, where the water is, and that we'll be getting up at 5.
I still have no clue what's going on.
We all load into my truck. the brother and sister pair from central new york tangle their long legs into the only slightly extended cab of my truck, sitting next to me in the passenger seat is Dan. Later I will learn that Dan is 69 and has traveled the world, aid work is his hobby and addiction (it seems).
But, upon first seeing Dan, I was transfixed. I'm still rather disturbed. His jeans, his hair, and his humor quickly call Tom to mind. In fact it takes me untill thursday to remember that his name is not Tom. I think I've probably just been looking for Tom since November and this lanky guy with CPT experience is too easily transformed. The whole drive to "the ark" I had to keep asking Dan questions, I was trying desperatly to create him as his own person make him "not tom." I didn't cry.
The four of us drive south, despite being dark it's still hot so all the windows are open and conversation is difficult. Off the highway and toward the town of Arivaca we see a Deportation Bus, waiting to be filled up, I wonder how long the passengers have been sitting.
In four wheel drive, up and down bumpy hills in the dark we make our way to the ark. I really have no idea what "the ark" is. Arriving in the night, I determine it is a canopy, some trucks, a camping trailer or two, few cots, and people. The people mostly exist as flashlights.
An aging hippy, way to reminiscent of a contradance nightmare, tells us how to use the toilet, where the water is, and that we'll be getting up at 5.
I still have no clue what's going on.