storming last days.

it's our last day in Pader. Millie, Bree and I are half way through painting the concrete slab where the babies and toddlers spend their days under a thatched roof with the babysitters. we are covered in paint. the stark whiteness is under our nails and in our hair. there are no turps and our scrubbing brushes are worn out from weeks of trying to achieve unmuddied feet.

our days here have blurred into moments, and they are all we have left. as shapeless memories imprinted in our minds, written in our journals and occasionally documented in our camera's. it will never be enough.

we set out with a mission today. to paint the 'childcare centre'. the dull concrete does not excite and enthuse imagination. so three white girls with less than 24 hours to spare buy paint and find paint brushes. most are hardened from not being rinsed. i manage to get one working, while Bree tries her luck with a roller. Millie who has had no luck, is using a seal stuffed toy to blot her way along the 60cm high wall. the paint is going to our heads. i've made sure the babies are all out of the way. most are sleeping in a small hut. it's nap time and like we once did in kindy, they sleep after lunch, though here it is on the bare concrete.

i've been carrying Elvis all day. i don't want to put him down. he's fallen asleep in my arms. he clings to my arm as i try to lay him on the ground next to the other babies. out comes the thumb from his mouth and with his eyes closed, he makes a whimpering sound, searching for me. i hold him a little longer. i'm going to fail at being a good mother who puts her babies to bed on time.

we paint for what feels like hours. it feels like hours when it has only been 45 minutes because it's so damn hot. we stop to head back for lunch and a nap, since everyone insists we have afternoon sleeps. (we think they think we can't handle the heat. we don't like to admit, they're right).

our last lunch in Pader. Stevie brings out chips and beans. we've asked for no more cabbage. there is only so much cabbage one can handle. Stevie smiles broadly at us; we going to miss you!

we smile, feel a tear or two burning our eyes and promise to be back. we've been told not to promise, but we do anyway. we will be back. it's more of a comforting promise to ourselves.

i can see storm clouds rolling in from where i sit. i grab my camera and we head up to the unfinished roof. click. click. click. still experimenting with new apertures and effects. before we know it, a storm has set in. we're not going anywhere for a few hours.

we pack, unwillingly, and pray our washing dries in the moist air. we lie on the bed and eat the last few pieces of chocolate and Vegemite dips. we watch Friends on Bree's ipod, and give each other massages. the storm is still raging outside. we resort to plan B. we will pay some people to finish painting the childcare centre.

when the rain finally eases we head to the markets with our friend Fiona. she walks us through the stalls picking out the right vegetables. we chose egg plant and ginger. a little too excited that we get to cook our own meal tonight. small things excite us these days.

thongs stuck in quick sand, men watching indiscreetly from near by stalls and the smell of fresh rain. we are feeling the longing for Pader before we have even left.

we spend the night at Alice's house with our Canadian friends, cooking dinner, drinking ginger tea with fresh honey and laughing and dreaming of making our return and all we will do. there is no electricity, so candles burn softly, making the warm yellow walls glow. Alice sits on the mat, smiling. i feel so much pride that i have had the privilege to meet and get to know this amazing women. anytime i don't feel like fighting my battles, hers is the face that will come to mind. brave and beautiful Alice.

(yes there are more made up words in this entry. deal. i'm the next Shakespeare).