Going Home

Thin. Gaunt. Dirty. Diseased. Imprisoned a long time. Now I await my release. A handover, they call it.
Then they come, the three, standing out from everyone else. Lanky white guy. Old muslim man. And the doctor. She talked to me in English. I didn't understand the old man's French. They left and the lanky guy came back. We got into a nice new car. We drove in through some gates and they took me to a big room. It was a hospital. It was my room. Someone came to cut my hair. Someone bought me bananas but I was still hungry. Then I was alone after another old kind doctor had examined me. He hadn't been afraid to touch me. I lay down until two of the strangers came again to see me. They changed my bed and showed me how to use the toilet. She asked me what I wanted to eat. Hours afterward, the muslim man returned with food for me. This was my first decent meal in a long time. I slept for the first time in years. I took a bath. In the morning I was at the airport with the lanky white man. He was taking me back to my people. I thought of my family. I remembered the day I was taken. At last, I was going home.

Growth
It is painful
It is natural
Taller
Bigger
Stronger
Wiser
More tolerant
More flexible
Increased compassion
Better understanding
Come let us grow together.

Afraid.
Alone.
Not what I expected.
Life.
My life.
Where do I go from here?
Apart.
Together.
Do we share a vision?
Hope.
A future.
United until the end.