Family and Friendship

Mom and my younger sister, Anne, had come to visit me in Boulsa, Upper Volta (now Burkina Faso), a sleepy town of 6,000 people.  It was 1979.  I had secured a good, paid internship there with Foster Parents Plan as the Assistant Country Director.  I was taking Mom and Anne back to Ouagadougou, the capital, for their flight home. 

I tripped and fell as I scrambled away from the group following me. Since the rounded wall was hard to hide behind safely, I had to get up and push forward without delay. A sense of panic came in waves as adrenaline pumped through my body. I was determined not to be caught by those chasing me. I couldn’t tell if they were getting closer or whether my long strides had provided a safe distance to continue my retreat, and then I saw them out of the corner of my eye.

I anxiously joined the line of girls in the playground, waiting to go in for the first day of school. I was considerably shorter than average. I looked up at the tall girls in front of and behind me, searching their faces for the one I liked best. The one I chose, who turned out to be eight inches taller than I was, looked kind and friendly.