It was a normal (semi-rainy) Tuesday at work when Gene came over in his helmet to give me a brief ride on his chopper. I of course said YES when the offer was jokingly suggested. After swinging my leg over his Harley (I don't really know what brand it is, but can I just call all of them Harleys???) we rode off into the daylight.
The total ride was not even 5 minutes, but feeling the wind from the open parking lot hit my face I immediately was transported to my time in Sudan. Riding on Gene's bike WITHOUT a helmet made me nervous, especially when we got closer to the main road, but then I kept telling myself, "I rode on the back of a shoddy motorbike in Sudan WITHOUT a helmet and hit MANY potholes going MUCH faster. You'll be fine in a parking lot, Natasha. You'll be fine."
After the fear swept over me I almost started crying because I missed Sudan. The last time I was on the back of a motorcycle was in Sudan. I silently rode as Gene's passenger as I tried to take in the sights. I no longer saw the perfectly cut grass, the sight of oak trees and giant, over-fenced, houses was replaced with the memory of the dry, thirsty ground of Sudan. I saw Sudan's blue sky sitting atop the brown dusty road with other motorbikes dangerously dodging pot holes and the constant flow of Sudanese pedestrians. Have you ever seen a Sudanese? There skin is truly the prettiest and darkest skin I've seen. People have described their skin as a black blue, but I didn't agree until I saw it for myself. And the height. People in Sudan are one tall glass of water. With their skin and height its like being with royalty. I still hate that I had to leave Sudan, and I miss those sweet kids.