Everyday I check the news to see if there is anything about my little island, I listen to the same music I listened to while out there (which was pretty much limited to the 5 CD's I had, compliments of Caiti and Alex), and read all there is written about Ebeye. Not that there is much.
If I smell fish, I think, "Ebeye." If I see a bug in my house, I think, "Ebeye." Basically anything and everything transports me back there.
This has been good for my writing.
This has been bad for my sleep.
Although I did not dream about Ebeye itself last night, I dreamt about writing about Ebeye.
However, I did find this great little one-paragraph description in Moon's Travel Handbook -- Micronesia while in Borders the other day:
"As you walk the streets of Ebeye, the Marshall's second largest town, at dusk you will be overwhelmed by the number of young children, almost as if a universe had been created containing only nine-year-olds. They sit, they run, they pick nits out of each other's hair. They play ball, often substituting sticks for bats or beach balls for the basketballs they cannot afford. They are poor, charming, and beautiful. They smile easily."
I could not have said it better myself.
Photo courtesy of Mel Wade
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