"Come on y'all" bellowed Stacey, "We'll be late!"

I ran out the door, my sunday clothes dragging along the path. I hopped onto the bus to find my friends surrounding me. The bus rumbled along the red dirt track. Times had changed since TJ's death. The bus travelled slowly past the ditch we had dug three years ago to capture a similar bus to ours. We giggled t ourselves, remembering the pleasure of watching the white children, not used to the muddy surroundings, stepping out of the broken bus. This might have been the first sign of black empowerment, at least for us.

Soon we were at the church. It's stained glass windows glared at us, sunlight beaming through them to create coloured shadows on the floor. I jumped out the bus, eager to get to church. These days we went to church, not a worry in the world about the night men. The family strolled into the well lit church, finding a seat in the front row. We sat together, quitely whispering while the church contined to flood with people. Before long the church was a sea of faces, I felt so secure. As time passed by the joyous music echoed through the House of God. I gazed across at the cheerful congregation, smiling to myself. Knowing all was well.

*

We have no choice over what colour we're born

What we do have is some choice over what

We make of our lives once we're here.

'Papa Logan'