As I climb to the end of this summer and we voyage back to Monterey for my final year, I am given an opportunity to reflect on my experiences. My own feelings of my time with Secure Fisheries and the work with Somalis plus the connections that I made reminded me of the narrator’s view of the sea and world around her/him:

Break, break, break,

On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!

And I would that my tongue could utter

The thoughts that arise in me.

O, well for the fisherman’s boy,

That he shouts with his sister at play!

O, well for the sailor lad,

That he sings in his boat on the bay!

And the stately ships go on

To their haven under the hill;

But O for the touch of a vanish’d hand,

And the sound of a voice that is still!

Break, break, break

At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!

But the tender grace of a day that is dead

Will never come back to me.

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Work on Somalia seems to take on a time of its own. Somali sounds as if the deepest angers are moving from the hot core to the cold breathe. The tones pierce the ears only before the rumblings of laughter fill ones body with such relaxation that a smile is the only adequate response. Read More →