I want to live where the mountain watches. I want to live where hadedas soar. I want to live where guinea fowl roam. I want to live where people sing from their bellies. I want to live where the laughter is riotous. I want to wait with baited breath for the change of season. I want to see the saplings I have planted become humongous blossoming trees. I want to live where I can talk to my neighbours over the fence. I want to live where I am known. I want to live where zebras eat from meadows of white flowers beside the freeway. I want to live where a skirt is not considered a skirt without lines and lines of bias binding around the edge. I want to live where alternate realities are imaginable. I want to live where the reality of human suffering is in front of me, not on a TV program or in an academic paper. I want to live where the soil is sandy. I want to live where insanity is a sane response to my surroundings. I want to live where fruit is sold at the side of the road. I want to live where beads abound. I want to live where voices click and roll. I want to live where shacks are painted in a thousand varieties of turquoise. I want to live where the impossible seams possible. I want to live here.