Still trying to get a flight to Juba after I missed the one yesterday due, to an impromptu meeting with the Minister of Information.
More on that later.
I had turkey and gravy tonight—which was nice—but it wasn’t quite as nice as gnashing my five onion stuffing with butter, bacon, and sage. Or my fried garlic mashed potatoes with heavy cream and blanched rosemary. Or semillion velouté from home made stock. Plus I didn’t wear my elastic-waisted Puma pants. And I didn’t watch the Lions or the Cowboys lose whilst drinking lots of beer.
Though I didn’t celebrate as I normally would’ve, I can still be thankful. If I had been born here, in Rumbek, in 1982, it would be just before the beginning of Africa’s longest civil war. And I’d’ve had to live through a famine in 1988 in the middle of said war. But in The States, every year I’ve celebrated a holiday based upon the American ideology of gluttonous consumption.
I guess it’s tough to say, “finish your peas. There are starving children here.”
I am thankful I was able to snag the life I did; and that I’ve lived it as I have done thus far.
Happy T-giving, everyone.