Unexpected Website

So, for this summer, I planned to have no job and enjoy my last non working days. That all turned around when my uncle asked if I wanted to do a website job. So, I accepted, it wasnt much, $125. http://thetrianglellc.com/ So, I went back into hibernation, but not for long, he called again, asking if he could refer me to his freinds if they were intrested in web sites or web site help. So, Mission Neighborhood Centers, a very high profile orginization in San Fransisco, wanted me to revamp their site from this http://www.mncsf.org/ to something better, so I pulled out all the stops. This is my creation, yet I don't know why they wanted a splash, but were gonna soon have a nice flowing flash splash. When its up, I will link it. For my web design, I opt for nice simple toned sites, which are acessible to ALL users, that dont use much processing to render, no flashy flash or mega scripting. The user needs info, and the faster he gets to it, the more he will enjoy it. Thats my philosophy, anways.

Wargame: Domination

This is a wargame that I made, I find it fun and currently it only has land units, and only the basics. I will soon add sea and air and customizable units (make your own). The cool thing about this game is the more you play it, the larger the map gets and the more units there will be. It comes with an easy guide to making your own maps too. Will release Diplomacy II: Combined Forces on the 7th of June 2008! (Click Black Cover to download) (Cover Below)

The Last Patrol

The turning point of World War II, Stalingrad. On Hitler's maps during Operation Barbarossa, the surprise attack on Stalin, Stalingrad was just a name and a dot. No one in the Whermact guessed that it would lead to the downfall of Hitler. In the short work of a year, German troops had conducted a blitzkrieg on Russia and had stopped at the Volga, the only crossing Hitler would use was Stalingrad. The reason it was defended to the last bullet, or attacked, was the symbolism of Stalins pride city. If Hitler took this, he felt he could crush the Russians.

Within the first months of the Battle of Stalingrad, the Stavka (Russian High Command) gave orders to hold the city at all costs. On November 1942, Operation Uranus was carried out. It included massed tanks and mechanized infantry moving around Stalingrad to take the Don, which was a river near the Volga and cut off the 6th Army into the kessel (German for pocket), it is approximated that 50,000 were trapped inside this pocket. Hitler bent on domination, and living in a world of flags and maps, was unaware of the reality. Stalingrad was officially taken by the Russians officially on January 1943. Within two years, the Reich fell due to expending resources and manpower on the hasty and unplanned disaster.

In this story, The Last Patrol, I have used a first-person view to show the final days before Operation Uranus, when the front line constantly changed and houses were fought over for months. I will use dialogue, foreshadowing, interior monologue, naming, sensory descriptions, specific narrative action, similes, pacing, conflict, and suspense to give vivid detail and life to the story. Readers see the battle through the eyes of Private Andrei Fedorov of the Russian Army's 13th Guards Battalion, a twenty-five year old man with a dark secret of having a traitorous family who served in the Imperial Russian Army. He believes that serving Stalin will redeem his past and protect him. He meets Adrik and is confronted with the possibility of not having to sacrifice. Duty and interest conflict during Andrei's last patrol into the cold, dark streets of Stalingrad.

The harsh ice made my feet feel like bricks as my squad stepped over the bodies and wreckage of a bygone skirmish. The misty morning lit by the fires of burning buildings is peppered with the soft putters of machine guns and the subtle crack of a Mosin-Nagant rifle.¹ I have lost the count of nights I have been in this city, if it can be called a city anymore. I can only remember that it is 1942, and the first snow happened a few nights ago.² All that remains are the ghastly walls of a seemingly distant era of humanity. Here humanity does not exist. Here you live by your gun. People kill apathetically, thinking about it just as much as breathing. This place is Hell, and the only angel to protect you is Stalin. Sergeant Mikhail Ivanov stopped in front of us, giving the signal to get down. I held my breath and heard the slow crunching of boots.

"Meine Zehen sind tot!" A German soldier exclaimed loudly.

"Sie möchten uns erhalten Sie getötet Verzögerung!" His sergeant whispered harshly.

Comrade Fyodor crawled forward towards Mikhail and whispered. "I can infer a small amount of German, they speak of cold feet and silence, I believe they are planning to raid our rear lines. Let us show them no mercy."

"He is correct comrades! Let us give them the taste of steel!" Agreed Mikhail, "For Stalingrad!"

He got up and fired upon the dark silhouettes with gleaming helmets. There was no discord between us. We rose up to charge with him. I sprinted across the street to set up a crossfire point. A comrade was hit by a grenade blast from under his feet, his body flying into the air like a doll. I had a German in my sights and fired, down he went with a yelp like a dog. The Germans set up a Maschinengewehr 42, a feared weapon with its seemingly relentless firepower.³ The carcass of the car that I hide behind is filled with holes. A bullet zips into my leg. Suddenly the morning is illuminated by a barrage of mortars, their sounds met with that of more German troops.

"Andrei!" Shouted Mikhail, "Tell our comrades that we need the Katyusha rockets and as many men as we can get!"⁴

I nodded in reply and stood up to run down the the seemingly endless street to our trench positions. My leg became numb, like an iron ball and chain was dragging me down. I soon reached the winding trenches. By the increasing mortar and gunfire I knew the battle was becoming heated.

"Where is Rodimtsev?!" I shouted above the mortar fire at a lookout. The Germans must have found our trenches because the mortars began to rain down right over me.⁵ One shell hit meters away, the dirt and rocks hit me in the face. I scramble down into the underworld of the trenches for cover. More mortars hit, I grab the lookout by the cuff and pull him down.

"Where!" I repeat, this time in his ear because he is a green and can't handle a barrage.

He points a shaking finger down a small thin trench, "50 meters!"

I head towards Rodimtsev's bunker. Within half a minute, I run into a dark lit room. The air is strong with blood, the wounded are piled up. Dirt from the ceiling trickles down with each deafening blast.(Narrative Action)

"Sir, Private Andrei Fedorov reporting! Sergeant Ivanov requests fresh men and rocket strikes!" I reported to General Rodimtsev, the leader of the 13th Guards Rifle Division, my division.⁶

"Ah, Private Fedorov, I was just about to send a runner up to Ivanov. I can give you ten men and one Katyusha rocket. I want them to goto good use, you are a diligent and brave man to come here through this mortar fire, you will be a temporary noncom."⁷ He replied, "Now get back up there, we will outflank them when the sun sets. I have faith in you that you will hold out."

I saluted and ran out. Ten men followed me as we scrabbled up the walls of the trenches. Down we ran through the streets back into the fight. A soldier screamed as he was shot in the neck. No one picked him up, the wounded must fend for themselves. Ivanov turned around and saw my squad with a glint of joy in his eyes.

"Lenin be praised! Do you have a marker?" He asked me as I shuffled into his foxhole.

"Yes sir!" I replied, pulling out a long cylindrical smoke grenade. I pulled the pin and let it fly. "My men, put some fire on that machine gun! Those who have Nagants, come with me!"

Two men and I moved into a house and climbed the stairs, inside the house bullet ridden toys and cribs of young children are strewn on the floors. This must have been a nursery. We arrived on top of the house.⁸

"Now! You two take up positions on the corners, I will fire from the apartment on the left!" I ordered while leaping across the small gap between the apartment and the nursery.

Within minutes, I heard the cracks of Mosin-Nagants, along with replying screams and silent guns. I reloaded my PPSh submachine gun to lay down more fire on a second machine gun behind a rubble pile below us.⁹ Then I heard the all to familiar shriek, I covered my head, pressing it into the cold concrete roof. The building shook from the blasts and a small bakery crumbled to dust across the street. More shrieks, complimented with their white streaks from the sky. The Katyusha observers must have seen the smoke grenade. I move over to my rifle men and tap their helmets for their attention. "Get out of here, more rockets are coming down!" We begin to run down the stairwell as a rocket detonates above us, parts of the building crash through. One rifleman behind me slips and crashes down the stair way, his body laying disjointed down below. With a horrid splintering sound, the stair way begins to give way. I pulled my remaining rifle man out of the way into a room as the stairs come apart under his feet. The two of us slump in a corner and catch our breath.

"Thank you Comrade!" He panted.

"I am Andrei Fedorov. Comrade, what's your name?" I breathed out, gulping loudly after speaking.

He muffled a cough in his arm. "Adrik Kyznetsov, whats your history Andrei?"

"Well, I grew up on a small farm before the collectivization and my mother died in the famines. I then moved to Moscow for work, now I am here.."¹⁰

"Hah, we are the same then, I lost my brother to the famines."

"Yes, but Stalin is good to protect us through the famines and the war."

"You believe it? You believe Stalin is protecting us? You believe he fought in the revolution?! You believe he is like Lenin?! You revere him?! How can you believe in him? The ones who care for us are only family and friends, no one else!" He spat with a strong disgust.

"I can believe in him, he has stopped the Germans, he has led us"

"He didn't lead a gosh darn thing! He didn't stop them! We did! We did with our guns!" He snarled as he shook his weapon. "You've been blinded! The whole point of Communism was for no oppressive government and plenty of prosperity for all! Yet he portrays himself as a god, there is no god!"¹¹ He stared at me, his eyes laced with confusion. "What makes you follow him?"

"Well, seeing you are not a party member or a secret police agent, my father was a colonel in the White Army and fought the Communists.¹² We lived during my childhood as bourgeoisie, when the revolution happened and my father died, my mother and I fled to the rural areas to hide and take up a new life. I now fight because the famines were Stalins punishment for our deeds. I fight to give my life on the front lines for him, and its time I do that."

I began to stand up slowly and knew in my mind that I must give my life, it is the only thing that can redeem my father for becoming a traitor. Dusting off a German helmet, I donned it and picked up an officers coat. With the grenades I had with me, I b tie their pins with twine together to make sure they would go off simultaneously.

"Andrei! You don't have to do that, you can live to fight another day! This city is getting to you!"

I refused to hear him and descended down to the bottom floor. The Germans were no longer firing, the skirmish was over, yet I knew where they were hiding. This was the end, I would escape this hell and redeem my family with this last action. My jaw is crushed in, I fell to the floor on my knees. The salty blood runs down my chin and splatters on the floor.

"Russ abschaum!" One shouted loudly over me.

The Germans found us. My hands grip for the twine, searching franticly inside my coat. More jabs with a gun butt into my side, I curl desperately trying to cover my exposed belly.

"Russ! Where is your Stalin now!" A second German hissed in broken Russian. I heard the click of a safety, then a burst of bullets tore into my leg.

"Die Russ!"

The world went black and silent.

"He is waking, where is the morphine?!"

"Darn it! This tube is out too!"

"Just hold him down!"

The world explodes into view, everything is vivid and detailed. I feel the pain hit me like a solid wall. A sharp object jabs into my leg, the pain begins to dull. The blood pounds in my ears. I look at my legs and see one covered in bandages with a splint attached haphazardly. The blood soaked rags were dark and yellow with disinfectant that did virtually nothing against virulent diseases such as gangrene. I am inside a office or library with the tables used as stretcher. My right eye is covered and my head feels like it is under a T-34 tread.¹³

"Where am I?" I manage to ask over the throbbing pain.

"Field Hospital of your battalion, the 13th Guards. A man carried you here on his back but died from his bullet wounds. He said that he was with you when Germans attacked the house both of you were in."

I knew he was talking of Adrik, why had Adrik carried me here. He saved my life, but why? He should have saved himself to fight another day! (Interior Monologue) My mind races with the question. Did I not do the same, I had no care for life, I believed that we are Stalins tool. We are human. I am human, I am my own tool. Duty over interest, but only to an extent! A mortar strike began, the paint flecks falling on my face, then I hear the explosions of heavy artillery. The creaking treads of tanks pierce the lulling evening, machine guns begin to putter with their words of death. The red sun casts long shadows across the street. German troops roar and shout as they charge towards our position. Comrades move forward and take cover behind unidentifiable ruins. The doctor over me bends down to pick up his scissors, only to have a bullet tear through his shoulder. I roll off the table and crawl towards my weapon that lies by my coat. I grab my gun and check the rounds, half full. A grenade blows the door open turning the oak into small splinters of wood that shower the room and leave a strong smell of a burning forest. A German stumbles in and sees me, his face obscure in the dust as time slows down. He sees me through the ocher mist. Do I pull it? I can't fight for Stalin anymore! I shall no longer be servile! I muse as he brings his sub machine gun up to shoot me. I fight for life and the right to live the rest in peace! Stalin no longer has control! My bullets hit him one by one, each one like a nail in a coffin as he falls to the ground. I loose another round clipping another German in the leg as he runs by.

The tank comes closer, its machine guns roaring. If it comes any closer, I will be vulnerable to its weapons. Grabbing my grenade rigged coat I have an idea, the twine is just long enough for me to throw it outside in the way of the tank. There is a slim chance of blowing the tread. The tank comes into view, its mammoth gray hulk casting shadows of death over me. Its exhaust belches the smoke of Russian bodies. I hurl the coat and put my head down, I have no time to get behind cover. Pulling the cord, the resulting blast scorches my arms and head. Raising my head, I see the behemoth in flames, one tread spinning into the soft snow, its crew baling out only to be picked off by Russian snipers. The thuds of T-34 tank guns come closer. Leaving the remaining German troops are trapped between the field hospital and the tanks. The last streams of sunlight illuminate the smoke over the city. I pull myself to a standing position by holding to whats left of the doorway. Rodimtsev has outflanked the Germans, like he had promised. A comrade runs over and helps me on to a tank. On the hull, I can see the inhabitants of our now useless forward trenches coming towards the tanks. Many pile onto every tank holding on to the small handles with the limber ones sitting on the barrel. Rodimtsev walks up to me from the command tank.

"Private Fedorov, you have done well, I shall see to it that you get a medal for your comradeship!"

"Thank you sir!" I reply with a hearty cough. "Sir, where to dig in next?"

"Dig in?" He laughs with glee. "We shall dig in no more! Chuikov has massed tank armies with mechanized infantry around Stalingrad, we shall punch around the city and take the Don."¹⁴ To emphasize the plan he pounds his fist into his palm. "Once we take that river, we can close the pocket and seal the Germans in the city they wanted so badly! Best of all, we are one of the battalions detailed to attack the Don!" He shakes my hand heartily. "Well Sergeant Fedorov, I hope you can have the same valiance in the fights to come just like today!"

"To Berlin!" I shouted out into the sky.

"To Berlin!" Replied my battalion.

The tanks start up, the column moving through the streets. Their sandstone paint is fresh, no scratches could be seen, new blood and power for the Russian Army. Swirling dust surrounds us as we drive towards the Volga bridge.¹⁵ It was true, the war may be ending! My right arm is sticky with blood, I lose grip of my weapon, and I do not feel the bullets in my body. Yet my body is filled with the hope that one more day alive holds the promise of a life after, a life without war, without apprehensiveness, a life without Stalin.

Historical Refrences: Antony Beevor's Stalingrad

Writer/Editor/Everythinger: Michael Leija (Me)

Are You Ready?

We have all seen it in our lifetime, the fall of governments. What makes the leaders corrupt and the people dissatisfied? Many have tried to address this issue using Socialism, others voice that a Republic is better, some are in the middle with a Democracy. A stable government is one that provides for the people, gives the leaders power, protects the countries interests and is backed by the approval of the masses. Many governments adhere to this philosophy, and follow it. It works, and oddly, the governments that last are those that give the people more of a voice. Yet, over the years of a single government, many manipulate the system for their own interests. Take Senator McCarthy and President Nixon. Based on my observations of nations and their governments path, I have decided that there must be an Entropy of Stability. The Entropy of Stability is evident in all governments, some have a longer life than others, but every government succumbs to this. The most susceptible is the Totalitarian/Despot system, next is the Socialist/Fascist/"Communist" system, the final is the Democratic-Republic/Democracy system.

The Totalitarian system fails quickly due to one thing, absolute power. The ruler is the law, he controls the people and initially cares for them. Yet once he has absolute power, it corrupts him instantly, he begins to crack down on opposing parties and non-ruler like thoughts. Countries that are an example of this is the USSR era Russia and Cuba. There is usually a blend of the Totalitarian system and the Socialist system. which keeps the ruler barely in power until there is a revolution or an intervention from outside forces. Due to the inherent overuse of power by these despots, this system is the least stable.

The Socialist/Fascist system is accepted by many because it "cares" for the lower class and it gives the people an intense nationalistic fervor. Yet, the ring of leaders or leader will slowly become corrupt, yet will hold power much longer due to that the power is usually in a few hands. Thus, these few hands become hungry for power, and dissent rises, which leads to assignations, civil war and other internal battles. The nations under this rule type can expect to fall violently, usually with chaos, splitting the nation or having it assimilated by "stabilizing" neighbor nations.

The third and final system is the Democratic-Republic, which gives people a say in who has power, and usually allows the people as a whole to wield more power than any official. Yet, this becomes corrupt to, because it allows free business, allowing the rich to bribe and influence the higher ups and the people. Campaigns to become rulers become ads that are indifferent from a product advertisement. With the officials becoming corrupt by the free market, slowly they can be swayed by a select few who are powerful with money in hand. Eventually, the importance of knowledge for the people is lost, as in the Vietnam war. Even today, our president must have a war to hold power, to fight a shadow, a farce, there were no "WMD's", whats next, attack Iran? Then we goto Pakistan, then India? Were begin fed the corruptive propaganda of world terrorism, terrorists do exist, and they should be hunted, but taking a whole country isnt going to help. Its called Global Terrorism for a reason, to look for them, we should start looking on our own soil! Anyways, back to the point, Demo-Republics always have the advantage of a check/balance system that can last feasibly forever, but will fall sometime. Our country is losing the power of the people, some don't even go to the voting, without our voice, the politicians will take power and corrupt the system. We must take the power back into our own hands.

Every government will fall due to corruption or war, the only people to stop it is the people, are you ready to stand as one, to take the power back, to keep the United States alive? Are you?

Plus Period, a Negative Use of Time

Plus Period, a program which is said to help the students in academics. The basic plan is this, take out 10 minutes out of each class, put them together into a 30 minute block before lunch. This block is called Plus Period. If you are missing an ESA, a test, quiz, or outright failing (oops, I forgot that the F word crushes esteem of students, lets call it a "No Mark" to be nicer). If you are slated in Plus Period, which is checked every two weeks (hence a new cycle of two weeks). If you have plus for any period, you are in plus for the whole cycle. The broken logic here is Plus Periods in Math, Language Arts, PE, and Band wont help student A finish a Physics test he was sick for, due to you can only take the test in the assigned class. This means that 9 out of the 10 (since there are 5 days a week, and 1 plus period a day on average) Plus Periods are wasted in time.

The Plus Period system claims that this time is to help students finish their homework. Its called homework for a reason, its easy enough to be done at home. If a student cannot finish it, he should stop playing World of Warcraft and actually do homework. This however is an generalization, yet I do believe that 98% of the students are capable of this.

The next point Plus Period advocates bring is the ability to finish tests and ESA's because the students complain there is no time. They seem to have forgotten lunch, before school and after school. These leave a two hour window to get the test/ESA done each day, amounting to 20 hours a week. That is much more time to finish the test than the 5 hours that Plus Period claims to give in the same amount of time, yet is tripped by the obstacle of many teachers only wanting the student to take the test in his or her plus period. This chops off the 5 hours and 30 minutes and leaves only a sparse 30 minutes every two weeks to finish this test.

I myself have experienced this system and its problems. I was in Plus Period for two weeks only to finish a short test that I finished in twenty minutes. Why could I have not done this after school or during my usual lunch?, I have no answer because I could have, its my responsibility to do the tests or ESA's that I missed. After finishing this test, I believed i was out of Plus Period. I found myself the next week hoping for no Plus Period, only to learn that I was. I soon inquired Mr. Taylor, who said he could give no information on it. After that, I inquired Mr. Hurrianko, who looked it up and notified me of a NM in Mr. Clarions Physics 1, which put the dreaded "P" of Plus Period by my name. After lunch, I then asked Mr. Clarion of this ordeal and he looked into his grade program, and strangely told me I was passing the class with a B and there was no "P" by my name. So then I went back to Mr. Hurrianko and asked him if he was sure he saw I was in Plus, he checked it again, and to his surprise there was no P. He said there was one there an hour ago, but had disappeared. I will see after Spring Break if I am still in Plus Period after this "glitch" in the system, I will be greatly disappointed at the school.

I personally believe that the Plus Period system is a dangerous system, it teaches students to rely on a system to help them pass classes. They will learn that does not really work in the real world. On top of that, the system used to assign students to it is broken, or is missing some try...catch lines in the code somewhere. If the school continues to use this, I do not think that they will see success with this quickly built, poorly planned system with very loose logic. I believe that students, not the school, should do their work and learning, schools are supposed to present and guide, were going to become adults once were thrust into the real world. This is not elementary school anymore.


Rocklin High School Homepage: http://rhs.rocklin.k12.ca.us/
Plus Period Cycle Dates: http://rhs.rocklin.k12.ca.us/plus/plus-schedule.htm

Rwanda

Sorry about posting this a bit late, Rwanda was a life changing experience for me. Our team went to Rwanda and arrived February 17th and on the 21st. We went to the village of Magegere and for me was eye opening to see how the rest of the world lived. I'm mixed with a feeling of helplessness and happiness that I helped many children, but there are still so many. In our first days there, we were shown the memorial sites for the genocide in 1994. Little did I know that in 1992, test killings were held to see how fast the target Tutsi population could be wiped out. The Hutu majority did not want another Holocaust, just a quick eradication of the Tutsi minority. We visited a church in an area where the tests were held, many ran to the church and were spared. In 1994, many more than two years before came to the church, 10,000 inside, 25,000 in all inside or near the church. They believed they were safe, they believed that the Hutu would not touch them. They were wrong.

I walked into the church, untouched since that day, the emptiness, the doorway twisted by grenades as the owner described. Inside the spots of light on the floor led your eyes up to the ceiling, where machine guns had torn holes through the thin tin roof. The place has a feeling I can only describe as the vacuum of death, the absence of human life, unlike a deserted area, but you can feel that there was supposed to be life here. I walk farther inside and we are led down to a chamber. In that chamber are the skulls of the victims inside the church, for many it "clicked", for me it did not. It still seemed very unreal. I looked into the eyes of the skulls and I could not see how any human could do this, it seemed that humanity had completely left the killers. We then walked out and were led to large tiled mass graves, where many of the dead are. There were three, with flowers and large purple crosses on them. As I walked around the church compound, it still did not hit me. I walked back into the church and saw a pulpit, stained in blood, dark and red. Then as I turned around I saw a door, I walked up to the door and peered inside. There I saw what made it become a reality for me. There, clothes as high as the ceiling were piled up. Old clothes, rotten clothes, bloody clothes. Bags, blankets, suitcases, dresses. I did not need an explanation of whose clothes they were, I knew, they were the dead's clothes. There it became real, the genocide, the planning, the pain, the death. It cut into me, it changed me, then and there I somehow knew. The relation change my view from a crazed killing to a meticulously planned extermination, akin to the Holocaust.

After our introductory to the Rwandan Genocide, we spent the next two days heading to Magegere and witnessing the the housing conditions. Houses are made of mud brick and are covered in metal corrugate. Inside, the houses are small, 10X10 in some houses. One house we saw was a young woman with a child and brothers living in such a house. To live inside this cramped and impoverished house made me wake up to the living standards of Rwanda and Third World Countries. I then felt compelled to do as much as I could. Before the trip, I believed that missions teams actions were a drop in the water, insignificant to the situation. The thought "What can 15 people do?" was in my head. But when I saw the conditions, I knew the answer, the drop is insignificant in the big picture in the start. Yet, for some reason I felt that drop could change the world, the way the few we helped in their lives.

After spending time in Magegere, we headed to a school to hold a Vacation Bible School and plant a field of fruit trees for the children. After we planted the trees, I was assigned to the games section. There, Jamal and I thought up a duck duck goose variant called chicken, chicken, goat. The game, unlike duck duck goose where you just say it, here you say bak, bak, bak, baaaa. This created lots of laughs from the children and before long they could play the game themselves.







During this time we also repeatedly vised PHARP, the organization we worked with to present the sewing group with sewing machines. The sewing group is a project that Anastase (right, with teacher of a group), PHARP leader and our guide, has a large hand in. The projects goal is to get women to work for themselves and make their own money. It has spread to the farthest corners of Rwanda today, all the way to the edge of Lake Kibuye. For the last two days before our trip to the Congo refugee camp, Danny, Jamal, my father Tony, and I fixed the computers at PHARP headquarters and had to deal with a nice virus that no anti virus software detected that copied itself in every folder on the hard drive (that was a hair pulling day).

Near the end of our journey, we headed to Lake Kibuye that is shared by Rwanda and the Dem. Rep. of Congo (actually its a war torn area with Western funded armies from the nations around it fighting over diamonds and other natural resources, along with many Hutu refugees who do not believe that the Rwandans forgive them) The camp we visited was a large hill, at least a mile and half long, covered in mud brick and white UN tops. In the middle of "The Land of 1,000 Hills" was a hill pockmarked with white rectangles. There we walked into the camp and was led by the overseer of the operation. The UN camp has been in operation since the early '90s and is a place of "no hope" as many will just spend their lives in the camp. We also learned that the camp only got half of its needed food in February. As we presented the leaders of a church there with clothes for the children, we began to go back to Kigali to head home the next day. On the way, we saw around half a dozen men in their late teens walking with blankets and all their belongings, one van we had that was half empty picked them up, since they were heading to Kibuye , which was on the way there. They said they were from the camp and had just finished secondary school there and were heading to a college in Kibuye. The next day, we headed back the way we came, over the green mountains of Rwanda, to the stereotypical "Africa n" savannas, over the Mediterranean, over Paris and over Greenland and Iceland. Funny, people always said Greenland's frozen white, and Iceland's green, they're were both white, with massive sheets of ice connecting the Arctic Circle.

As we drove back home after landing in SFO, I had many thoughts about Rwanda. I knew at least one thing, with our help, and others help whether direct or indirect, through church or the UN, we can give Rwanda hope, the same hope the men probably had going to college, out of the UN camp with a better future ahead of them, just like the rest of this new generation of Rwandans, not separated by Hutu and Tutsi, but as one.

- Michael Leija