Happy 2015

On the way...

Get the cock

 

"Get the cock", that's the name of a popular Tanzanian sport.. the cock is running and the job of the participant is to get it... Prize for the winner: The cock himself!

African child day

16 giugno

International African child day and

inauguration of the BRIDGE PRESCHOOL

http://bridepreschooltz.blogspot.com

Brazil

A little world

The Bridge Preschool

And here we are! Step by step our project of construction of a preschool for the children of the village of Lugalo is making progresses...

Have a look at the blog of the Bridge Preschool

http://bridgepreschooltz.blogspot.com

And... KARIBUNI! We are waiting for you!

Moto-taxi

Bamboo juice

It is well known that the human being has got the surprising ability of finding alcohol in whatever products are available in the particular environment...

Artists

Goodbye

Work in progress

Rain

Waterproof

The first shower

After a whole week of freely clouds and thunders,

at the end of a fearfully dark day of furious wind,

not without raising a whirl of dust and flying buckets,


Here she is! 

How long we waited for her!

One hears only her roaring. Like a waterfall. Everything else is still, and drinks her with wide eyes. How long it lasted? The world will start up again only after her leave.

And then there is who, amazed, sees her for the first time...

Water

– Maji ni uhai –

Water, the nectar of life

October. Water is desire. The ground is inflamed, red-hot and dusty. Long cracks open along the beaten track. The sun dries out your thoughts. Not a drop since April. The bare thorny trees sting your throat. Your breath is dry, desolated like the land you tread on.

The wind blows away your sweat, leaving you long salty strips on the skin. A cat meows in the distance. The chicken gasp, looking for a bit of shadow.

You close your eyes, and see a spring. You dream to drink in. Fresh and clean water, that invites to be touched, tasted, swallowed. Beautifully blue.

You open your eyes and it only remains the red dust. A snake is stuck between the scalding stones. Headache, drought, and in the lungs more dust again.

And then, from nowhere, it appears a minuscule leaf. The Spring begins like that: with a minuscule leaf from nowhere. One can't see a cloud, but magic, the leaf extinguishes the thirst in a vision. Young and tender, it sends in the air its perfume of hope.

And here, that's another one! And another, and another again. They bud from the thorns. They are painting green the mountain. The Sky suggests to them that the season is about to change, so they celebrate. They use all last resources for shining and rejoicing to the imminent regeneration of the world. Their last energies in a rain dance.

It's a promise. Soon we'll have water again. Soon we'll have again life.

Wild hen

Find the eggs...

Hunting hen

For those of you who didn't understand.. the thing in its beak is a mouse :-S

The village's bells

Le trois cloches

"Village au fond de la vallée, comme égaré, presqu'ignoré. Voici qu'en la nuit étoilée un nouveau-né nous est donné. Jean-François Nicot il se nomme. Il est joufflu, tendre et rosé, […]

Une cloche sonne, sonne […]

Village au fond de la vallée, loin des chemins, loin des humains. Voici qu'après dix-neuf années, cœur en émoi, le Jean-François prend pour femme la douce Elise, Blanche comme fleur de pommier. […]

Toutes les cloches sonnent, sonnent, [...]

Village au fond de la vallée, des jours, des nuits, le temps a fui. Voici qu'en la nuit étoilée, un cœur s'endort, […]

Une cloche sonne, sonne, [...]"

I wonder how the bells of the church look at us. They are always there, their time covers many of our generations. They see us when we come to the world, when we live, and then pass away. And again birth. And again life. And again the same dead. So quickly, like blink of an eye. As we look at the brief flight of a fly.

We believe we walk along a line, which is rather just a too short stroke of an immense circumference. The enough old ones know that everything repeats eternally. Day and night, summer and winter, everything circulate, what starts will finish, what lives will die, and then be alive again.

But I love to think that our life is a story. And a story can be new, while telling us about unmemorable times. It can be old, but not yet discovered. The past and the future are born with it. Everything is there since ever. In the story of our life every moment is forever.

The moment is everlasting.

Benvenuta

Con ogni bambino che nasce Dio fa sapere al mondo che ha ancora fiducia negli uomini...