The grass always seems  greener on the other side of the septic tank. I envied the family that lived across the street; I believe the name was Jenkins. Their house was built in a strange style; it wasn’t like any we’d ever seen. They had brought the plans with them to Africa. My sister said the wife was English, but I could never tell just by looking. They were the first white people I’d seen in my life. Father went over once, to welcome them into our neighborhood. All we wanted to know when he came back was what their house looked like on the inside. He said they hadn’t invited him in and Mr. Jenkins was not a big talker anyway. Continue reading →