Excerpts from 'Raising Ourselves'

Posted: Thursday, February 27, 2003


r existence in the village was quiet. We were as languid as the smoke that drifted out of our stovepipes. But in between the long periods of peace there was conflict and violence. I remember coming home one December, happy and filled with hope of Christmas activities at school. As I drew closer to our house, I could smell the home-brew. I knew then that we children were in for one long holiday."

"After days of drinking and fighting came the slow, painful task of sobering up. My mother's swollen face would heal. My father's face went blank as if nothing happened. Then there was an emptiness about our cabin as in the aftermath of war - a war in which no one knew who had won."

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