Last Day: Cancer 22. Year of the City: 2002.

(That's an homage to Logan's Run, by the way).

I'm ready to go home. I've danced more than I want to dance for years and years and years. I've been hot. I've been sticky. I've been mindnumbingly bored for eight hours at a time.

I've learned a lot about Vodou culture, about Haitian culture, about lots of things. There are aspects of the house structure in Haiti that I don't think could possibly exist in North America. I certainly found the language of family in the societé a bit disorienting because of my relationship with my own family.

And now I'm tired, and ready to come home.

Today, I've been down at the market place, drawing stares from the crowd (a group of blans draws a bit of a crowd). There are things about Haiti that I recognize now, and which I don't think I could put into words. Things that make this place so different than anything I could have read about in a book.

A week ago, we went to the beach; we travelled in a "bus", Haitian style, about 20 people crammed into the back of a pick-up truck with drums and food and pop. We sang and drummed as we rode to the beach, and it was just beautiful. I spent the whole day in the water (I'm a water baby -- I'm Scorpio).

We've had dramatics, here, too. The blans here are here for many reasons, and although there's no out-and-out friction between any of us (well, perhaps between Mamman and one person), we've drifted into a coupl'a cliques.

Chrystie has become like a sister to me; we talk endlessly about what we're seeing and how we're coping. We're both a bit overwhelmed. Ritual seclusion took a toll on both of us, but we got through it together.

I'm not saying that it was a mistake to come. I learned incredible stuff here. I think there was stuff I wanted to focus on more that I didn't get to find out about, and I regret that. The stuff I learned was different -- of a different character -- than the stuff I expected.

Man, it'll be good to be home.