I remember dreaming, but don’t remember what they were, so today’s is one that Ali had. He is from a village in Somalia. This is written in first person. Here goes…

I (Ali) left home, wearing a new suit and new dressy shoes, with hair on my head (he shaves) walking on a dirt “road” toward the end of town, about 1/2 mile, where the government buildings used to be. The town is ravaged by famine, and war, with bullet holes everywhere. There were people, but few knew me, who talked with me, catching up on life. The people looked sick. I walked away, looked left, then right. Some of the people recognizing me, some not. Dust was blowing, like a storm. I then went to a farmer’s market. I saw my uncle (Mother’s sister’s husband, who was a mechanic, and now passed on). He hugged me, and was happy to see me. There was a young boy, about 5 – 6 yrs old, crying, coming toward us, but was being pulled back by different people. I walked with my uncle for a bit, then walked alone, getting away from the town.


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