Sudan | Choices and Values:
One day, the people singing that song I heard in Eritrea came on. Someone put the volume up, which attracted a large group of people. They all stood a breath away from each other, shoulder pressing against shoulder. They all looked up as though God was speaking to them.
I desperately maneuvered among the scarred legs and dirty pants to try and get a peak at the television screen. It was the same familiar song and the same familiar singers. There was the man with the wet, curly hair. He had on the same jacket with the gold sparkles in the front. There was the man with the sunglasses who was moving his head in a funny way. They were all there doing what I saw them do when I went to that house back in Eritrea.
I asked someone if those were real people. They assured me they were. I couldn’t quite figure out how they got on that screen. I itched to take apart that television to figure out how it worked.
I asked someone about that man — the one with the gold speckled jacket. They told me his name is Michael Jackson. They told me he is a famous singer in America.
I was fascinated by all this and also utterly confused. They used such familiar and casual language when talking about America. I was starting to wonder about the credibility of my theories about heaven and God.