Author Note: As always, Beacon of Hope is real. It's a fabulous organization committed to education, resourcing and care for HIV+ women in the town of Ongatta Rongai, just outside of Nairobi.

Thanks for the reviews and comments. I'm glad that this story is connecting with people.

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"So, Dinah, how many students are here?"

"About two hundred," she replied. Our guide for the day at Beacon of Hope out in Ongatta Rongai was Dinah Ovinda, a spirited American woman in her mid-thirties. She's been living in Nairobi for about twelve years now and is generally my favorite person in the country. Her husband, Pascal, is the director of placements at Compassion International.

"Are they all HIV positive?" Troy had gotten very good at asking questions over the past few weeks.

Dinah shook her head, "No, but most of their parents are. A large majority of our students come from single parent homes where the mothers are HIV positive. Some of these precious biscuits are positive already, but trust me, they learn prevention methods early."

"They also run a VCT out of this building and then job training at the main compound," I offered. Beacon was one of my favorite groups to work with. We had partnered with them a few years ago to study the effectiveness of job training on the rate of ARV usage and I selfishly extended our partnership once the study was over. I come out here as often as possible. Dinah and Pascal had often been life rafts for me as we all navigated this world.

"And VCT is voluntary counseling and testing, right?" Troy offered.

Dinah and I both nodded.

"Would you like to meet the kids, Troy?" Dinah asked.

His eyes lit up like Christmas trees. "Could I?"

She laughed. "How about you read a story to our first years. How does that sound?"

Troy swears to me that he hates children back in America. He claims that they're noisy and obnoxious and they make him cringe. You'd never know it by how drawn he is to the kids over here.

He nodded enthusiastically and followed Dinah into the overcrowded schoolroom. I quickly grabbed one of his cameras from his bag. Even if just for my own heart, I needed pictures of this moment.

As we walked into the room, I felt twenty little hands grab out for me. They love touching us and being touched. Kenya is a very tactile culture, all of Africa is, really. They express their love and connections through touch. It definitely took some getting used to for me but now I'm addicted to it.

"Everyone say hi to Troy and Sharpay," Dinah was instructing the class as I tuned back into reality.

"Hello Troy and Sharpay, thank you for coming, we are glad that you're here!" Forty-five five-year-old voices struggled to stay in unison, but I could see that the preciousness of it made Troy love it even more.

He grabbed the book and sat down, "Are you guys ready?"

When they all went crazy again, he put a finger up to his mouth and shushed them slightly. "If you're ready, raise your hand." A forest of fingers appeared before me and I raised the camera to my eye.

Snap

His eyes lit up and became even bluer.

Snap

The little girl on the second row who was listening so intently, I thought her eyes were going to fall out.

Snap

I can see why Troy loves his job. He gets to capture moments. Moments that are fleeting and fragile and he records them for all of eternity. And because he's often photographing things that are foreign to his readers, he's their eyes as he tells them the story.

Well, the story of today is that he's leaving in ten days and I want to soak up every single moment that I possibly can with him. I want every memory captured so that I can go back months later and stare at that picture and relive the moment.

Ten more days is all I have and then he flies out of my life again.

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Sharpay had warned me that as soon as I pulled out that camera on the playground, I was going to get swamped. I hadn't really listened, figuring that I could do it discretely.

Oh man, was I wrong.

Cries of "Mzungu! Photo!" filled the air as the kids that weren't climbing on me were posing for pictures.

I felt a familiar hand scratch my back to get my attention and I turned to see Sharpay covered in children. The scratch was a plea for help. I laughed and pulled my camera up to my eye. She had two kids on her back and two hanging from each arm. One was wrapped around her waist and standing on her feet as she struggled to walk. They just kept saying "Mzunugu" over and over and over again.

I was beginning to get sick of that word.

I snapped a few pictures of Sharpay's predicament that I was planning on framing when I got home and then pulled the kids off her back. Of course, they transferred right to mine. Okay, so it was human jungle gym time. I can handle that.

Thankfully, Dinah appeared in the playground a few moments later and called them all in for lunch. In a matter of moments, we went from being completely covered in children to standing alone in a deserted play area.

"Well, that was an adventure," I said.

"I love Beacon," Sharpay replied, "but it's always exhausting."

"Are the kids always like that?"

She laughed, "Always. And Dinah says that they were like that when she came over here in grad school. Her friend Myles is the one that coined the phrase 'human jungle gym'."

"So what do we do now?"

She checked her watch, "Now, we have lunch."

I nodded, "Yay for beans and maize."

"Listen, friend, it's really not that bad."

"I have a gag reflex, Sharpay. The maize just gets stuck in my mouth and the beans don't help."

"Maize is the most sustainable crop that they have."

"I'm not saying that it's not fabulous, I'm just saying that I never want to eat it again once I leave Kenya."

"Ryan was the same way," Sharpay offered.

"Really?"

"Yeah, Em didn't mind it much at all. Sarah liked it, actually. But Ryan just couldn't choke it down."

"It's so grainy."

"Well, it's basically corn."

"But corn isn't grainy, this is like wheat bread corn or something."

She laughed and rolled her eyes at me. "Well, you only have to put up with it for ten more days."

Right. Ten more days.

Why wasn't that good news?

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We had another home visit today. An upstairs apartment, down a dark and narrow hallway, up a dark and narrow flight of stairs… a woman named Kathryn and two of her kids – 15 year old David and 3 year old Gloria. There were other kids, but they were away at school in another city. I asked Sharpay if this was normal and she said that agencies like Beacon or Oxfam will often help HIV positive parents find other homes for children who are old enough in order to lighten the financial load.

Through some circumstances that I'm still not clear on, Kathryn was not only HIV+, but was suffering from the affects of a particularly nasty stroke. She could barely sit up and her speech was garbled. I had no idea what to do with our time with her.

I had found that the traffic jams on the way home were the best time to journal.

I got an email last night from Andrew. He loves the pictures I've sent so far. Miller Publishing did pick us up, so there's even more pressure to get this next issue perfect. He wanted to know if he could make my stuff the cover story.

There's a lot of me that screams 'yes! We must' and then other parts of me that aren't ready to share about this. I know that my pictures will speak for themselves, so there is that, but… I don't know… I'm not making any sense. The whole point of me coming over here was to share what I've seen…

For the first time in my life, I'm not content with just showing my pictures. I'm not okay with just releasing them to the general public and letting them do with them what they will. I need them to know Lennox's story and to love Kibera as much as I have come to. I need them to know what death smells like and what it feels like to get tested for HIV.

Even if I wrote an article to go along with my story, I know that I'd still feel this way. There simply aren't words…

"Troy, did you hear me?"

Sharpay interrupted my thoughts.

"No, I'm sorry, I was journaling."

"Hakuna Mattata," she replied. "I was just saying don't forget that tomorrow we have to be at the airport pretty early."

"Yeah, what time is that?"

"Our flight leaves for Kilgali at about nine, so we need to be there at eight, which, with Nairobi traffic, means we need to leave at six thirty."

"Damn."

"I know," she made a sympathetic face. "Suck city. But totally worth it to see Kilgali."

"How long are we in Rwanda for?"

"Four days."

"Awesome."

She smiled and returned the book she was reading and I went back to journaling.

Of course, the biggest question on my mind right now is how do I possibly leave? I have ten days left in Africa – four for our little impromptu trip to Rwanda and six in Kenya. How am I possibly supposed to leave a place that I have fallen in love with?

And Sharpay claims that it's easy to keep in touch with her, she and Ryan talk every week, for instance. But I'm used to pretty constant contact. I don't know how I'm going to be able to adjust to life post-Sharpay or if I even want to.

Holy shit.

Did I just write what I think I wrote?

Have I fallen for…

No.

Not possible.

I go to scratch out those last few lines and find myself unable to. But they're just as true as the other stuff.

Holy shit.

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I've been rehearsing the speech in my head our entire drive home. Thankfully, Troy was lost in his journal and traffic was a nightmare, so he had no idea that I was basically hyperventilating over there in the driver's seat.

I know that I'm not crazy. We have a connection. It's grown over the past few weeks to a point where I am now going crazy. We can read each other's eye contact and we usually finish each other's sentences. I've only ever felt this with Ryan… but in a totally different way.

What the hell was I going to do?!

We pulled into Gracia's parking lot and he gathers his stuff.

"See you tomorrow, then? 6:30?"

I nod, barely able to think over my pounding heart.

Our eyes connect for a moment and I'm sure that he can read my thoughts. He leans over and embraces me. "Thanks again for a great day."

This man is going to be the death of me.

He gets out. It's now or never.

I pop out of the car before I loose my courage. He's already walking into the building…

"Troy!"

He turns, very, very quickly.

"Yeah?"

"Why don't you just come and stay at my place tonight? I'm closer to the airport than here and we can take back roads and – "

He cuts me off. "Just let me get my stuff. Give me ten minutes?"

I nod and he runs up the stairs like he's on fire.

Holy hell.

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