I had an interesting dream last night. . .I think you’ll agree.

I’m working for a foreign-aid organization that sends people and reporters to small towns in foreign countries that need. . .well. . .aid, whether it’s in the form of food, education, infrastructure, or a variety of other things.  I am with a group of about ten people, both aid workers and reporters, and we’ve been sent to Nicaragua to build a school and bring food to a tiny village in the middle of a rain forest.

In my rare moments of spare time, I am giving singing lessons to a very talented ten-year-old boy.  Our group is only in the village for a few days, however, so as soon as the school is completed, we have to say our goodbyes to the people of the village, pack up our battered cargo truck painted in yellow and camouflage, and drive away from the village.  The rest of the group is in the cab of the truck, and I’m riding in the back by myself, as we traverse the narrow, bumpy, muddy mountain switchbacks.  The back of the truck is open, like an army transport, so I can only see behind us, but I can hear what’s going on around us, and it isn’t pretty.  There are guns being fired into the air, and I can see dirty, desperate people from other villages emerging from the jungle and running along the road behind our truck.

The road becomes so treacherous that we are forced to slow down drastically, until the group of running villagers catches up with us.  They attempt to jump into the back of the truck where I’m sitting, but I close the glass door on the back of the truck and lock it in an attempt to stop them.  Two of the men from our group climb out of the truck’s cab and hand a few bags of food to the villagers, and they thank us and let us go back on our way again.  We stop at two other villages along the road to drop off bags of food and pick up two older couples, also members of our organization, who are stationed elsewhere.   They climb up in the back of the truck, and I remove the iPod speakers from my ears so that we are able to talk.  I tell them what happened at the last stop, with the guns and everything, and they tell me, “It’s crazy to travel through the jungle without the protection of a glass door.  You just never know what these people are likely to do.”

The dream’s location changes, but we’re all still in the back of the van, which indicates that we have been driving for days on end, from Central America, through Mexico, and finally north through the United States all the way back to our home base in Portland.  Out the back of the van, we start to see signs, buildings and businesses that we all recognize, and we know we’re getting close.  Finally we arrive at our headquarters, and we climb out and stretch our weary bodies.  My girlfriend (C, a Portland friend in real life, but not my girlfriend) is there with the group of friends and family members who are greeting us as we arrive.   She runs over to me, and I give her a kiss and a huge hug, then I tell her I want to change out of my dirty traveling clothes and into some clean ones.  While I’m rummaging around in my suitcase, the leader of our group walks over and says hello.  He tells me, in his English accent, that I should get in contact with the boy I’d been tutoring, because he has suddenly become a very successful singer, and that I may be in a position to capitalize on this opportunity and make some money, for either our organization or for myself, at the very least.  Also, my boss says, the boy’s father is convinced that the boy will somehow become gay if he joins the music industry (despite his young age), and my boss is encouraging me to call the father and explain how ridiculous that idea is, and what the music industry is really like.  He tells me that he’ll get the family’s contact information and send it to me.  I thank him and agree to contact them as soon as I get back to work in a few days.

I wave to my boss, and to the other members of my team, and walk with my girlfriend in the direction of my car.  We are walking side by side, our outer arms holding one of my suitcases, and our inner arms around each other.