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Eight years crowned

Today is my eighth birthday in Ocha. What happened in that room eight years ago stays in that room. But I can share the prayer I said at my front door this morning, in Spanish because that's how it came out: Gracias por mi cabeza, por mi casa, por mis muertos y por mi gente. Que nunca me falte el agua fresca, ni la humildad. Thank you for my head, my house, my dead and my people. May I never be without fresh water, or humility. Then I called my godmother, who cried, and my mother, who asked if I'd eaten.