The books

Ok, I wish I could pack a million personal emails into this one, sneak
a message so you know I'm always thinking of you, or just ask you
personally what's up. I wish this post was just time spent together in
that comfortable silence that friends share. Really though, which one
of us wrote last? If it really was you, forgive me and write again. I
miss you. This is Not the place where I want to lose contact with you.

I'm reading this book right now called What is the What? By Dave
Eggers. Maybe I should preface this with another book story. At
Thanksgiving, when Mom and Jen came, Mom gave Didier (the father of
the family I live with) the some Clif bars and the book Three Cups of
Tea. In those days, he had a 3 hour bus commute to work, so he would
ask the bus driver to keep the light on so he could still read at
night. He used to joke that some nights the bus would be cold, he'd be
hungry and reading in the book about this mountain expedition through
Afghanistan, so he would pull out a bar and start nibbling on it, but
because the bus rides were 3 hours and let's face it, Clif bars are
worth gold here, Didier would find himself rationing the food survival
style. After long days, he would find himself nodding off, book in one
hand, snack in the other, totally immersed in this other world. He
said he would dream that he was in the book. I loved that. I loved
seeing that a book could still do that to a man.

I should have told that story after mine because it trumps mine.

What is the What? is about a boy, Valentino, who crosses the Sudan
with the Lost Boys at the beginning of the civil war in the 1980's.
He's a refugee in Clarkston, GA now (same community as in the book
Outcasts United, btw, also about refugees) and he's telling his story
to whomever he thinks needs to hear it. This book is incredible. It
causes me to rebel against everything I hoped for in my life. Will you
understand that without reading it?

Well, here is where I hope Didier's story gives mine some comical
credibility. Like i said, in the book this boy is walking away from
his home through the hot African desert without any family, naked,
hungry, fearing for his life, and unsure of his future. -Now I don't
even want to draw parallels to a true story about the Lost Boys, but
work with me- it's been so hot here that Ive learned a few new slang
words for 'oven' this week, so recently I just sit around in shorts
and sweat and read. And because it's so hot and humid the mosquitoes
and other bitey bugs are out full force. And because the cost of
living rises noticeably every few months, I haven't had a ton of cash
for the snacks and crap that I usually eat when I'm sitting around
reading. Add to that a stronger than usual homesickness now that I've
been here for a complete year, and you get hot, half-naked hungry,
homesick and (let's do away with ailliteration) itchy Josh reading a
book about Valentino's journey. I read late at night because I can't
put it down. Sometimes, there have only been a few pages left in a
chapter, but I didn't know if I would make it because I was so tired.
I'd fall asleep and start dreaming like Didier, that Im part of the
story. That I'm walking with the rest of the boys of my age from our
village to another country where we'll hopefully be safe. Then I wake
up and I laugh because that dream will be mixed in with a bunch of
other dreams about other people and places I've actually have been to,
and I think Thank God that I'll get to see my family soon. I might get
to see you in May or maybe July, and we don't really have to worry
about the future if we don't want to.

I'm learning a lot here. And you're probably pretty happy where you
are, right? So we're ok, and I'm thankful for that. I wish we could
spend time together, but when I think about what you're probably
doing, family, friends, I really do feel happy for you. So tell me a
story. If you tell it well, it's likely I'll wind up dreaming I'm
right there with you. Because it's crazy what a story can do to a man.