My Perch.

I have adopted the front balcony as my most cherished spot in my new “home” away from home. It overlooks a dirt road with confetti-like remnants of plastic trash strewn about. In the evening, large jet-black crows circle overhead in a frenzied manner, feverishly communicating in a language to which I am not privy. The sky is filled with a mesmerizing mix of cobalt and indigo blue interrupted by thin streaks of clouds and splashes of orange from the setting sun. People walk by and sometimes stare in wonder at the white girl perched on the balcony above. Neighbors from the presumably cramped living quarters across the way pour out onto the street to take in their daily dose of gossip and idle chitchat before dark falls. The unhurried pace on the street level foils my hasty attempts to become a ready expert in the inner workings of Tanzanian life and culture.