The bull's sleepless night
I knew I shouldn't have written that last email saying that life couldn't be more pleasant. The following morning was rough with a group of difficult students struggling to get their minds round their dissertation. For them the problem seemed an obvious one: me, the lecturer. After a sleepless night, I pulled the plug on the lot of them.
The Saturday afternoon sport I heard on the radio reminded me of what had happened. Both across the airwaves and through our open window you could hear the crowds chanting from the packed stadium, "Olé!! olé!" Rapturously the commentator cried, "This makes me proud to be a Colombian! The bull's dead, Don Cesar's cut off his ear, he leaves the arena carried high, showered in confetti!" It was the last big day of the bull fighting season.
The sense of being unwittingly caught up in a bull ring is one most Latin American missionaries experience. This week will we be dead meat or over-rated matadors?
Photo: Another kind of risk: the main road beside Olwen's
supermarket, one wet afternoon
The Saturday afternoon sport I heard on the radio reminded me of what had happened. Both across the airwaves and through our open window you could hear the crowds chanting from the packed stadium, "Olé!! olé!" Rapturously the commentator cried, "This makes me proud to be a Colombian! The bull's dead, Don Cesar's cut off his ear, he leaves the arena carried high, showered in confetti!" It was the last big day of the bull fighting season.
The sense of being unwittingly caught up in a bull ring is one most Latin American missionaries experience. This week will we be dead meat or over-rated matadors?
Photo: Another kind of risk: the main road beside Olwen's
supermarket, one wet afternoon
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