Barefoot With A Backpack, Burma
I find myself drifting back to the memory of being pulled in the back of an ox cart through the twisting back roads of Burma, where a smile and a shake of the hand brings a smile to even the saddest of faces. I can still smell the smoke rising up from the ceramic ovens; I can hear the flip flops of tired workers flapping against the dirt road as they slowly shuffle home from another day of forced labor and unsatisfied existence forced upon them by the countries relentless regime.
I can see the smiling faces lining the road with eyes fixed on my unfamiliar face: some wave their hands while others stand as if frozen in time, and spying children reveal their hiding spots with roaring laughter. The chickens roam about as the women hang the lungis (sarong like local dress) to dry in the warm afternoon breeze.
2010 Copyright, Jennifer Campos, All rights reserved
Tweet This
Digg This
Save to delicious
Stumble it
