Where am at

Again, I find a song that expresses my disposition accurately.

Somewhere between who I was and who You're making me
Somewhere in the middle, You'll find me

Fearless warriors in a picket fence, reckless abandon wrapped in common sense
Deep water faith in the shallow end and we are caught in the middle
With eyes wide open to the differences, the God we want and the God who is
But will we trade our dreams for His or are we caught in the middle

Somewhere between my heart and my hands
Somewhere between my faith and my plans
Somewhere between the safety of the boat and the crashing waves
Somewhere between a whisper and a roar
Somewhere between the altar and the door
Somewhere between contented peace and always wanting more
Somewhere in the middle You'll find me

Just how close can I get, Lord, to my surrender without losing all control
Lord, I feel You in this place and I know You're by my side
Loving me even on these nights when I'm caught in the middle

Casting Crowns

Sexting

That this would be my post title!

What have we come to?

I'm appalled by this craze among the youth.
Sexting is texting sexplicit messages or nude pictures on the phone.
Apparently some high school students in America (don't know about other countries) take nude pictures and send them to friends.
Girls especially, send nude pictures of themselves to boyfriends.
We are talking 13 to 18 year olds - how sad!
Peer pressure, admiration, worthiness, fame, fun?
Indulgent nonsense - that is what it is.

I read that one girl sent a naked picture of herself to a boy, it leaked to other kids who teased and laughed at her until she couldn't take it anymore - she committed suicide.

Teen age is a jumbled phase in life; the confusion of finding self, fitting in, let alone the mystery the opposite sex, is a lot to deal with.
Add sexting to the equation and you end up with a bunch of crazy, warped weirdos.

Is it hard to grasp that our bodies are sacred, created in the image of a loving God who desires that we honor the mold?

Paul the Apostle said;

I APPEAL to you therefore, brethren, and beg of you in view of [all] the mercies of God, to make a decisive dedication of your bodies [presenting all your members and faculties] as a living sacrifice, holy (devoted, consecrated) and well pleasing to God, which is your reasonable (rational, intelligent) service and spiritual worship.
Do not be conformed to this world (this age), [fashioned after and adapted to its external, superficial customs], but be transformed (changed) by the [entire] renewal of your mind [by its new ideals and its new attitude], so that you may prove [for yourselves] what is the good and acceptable and perfect will of God, even the thing which is good and acceptable and perfect [in His sight for you].

Romans 12:1-2

What do responsible parents do to protect their children from such influence?
They can't be locked in the house - they are old enough for certain freedoms.
Should parents police and check all messages on their kids phones?
I know - what are kids doing with cell phones in the first place?
Blame technology, why do those wiz fellows go creating trouble with their brilliance - putting cameras on phones?

Even though the issues have metamorphosed over the years, the gist is the same.
Approximately 1000 B.C, King David asked the question;-
How can a young man keep his way pure? By living according to your word. Psalm 119: 9
It might sound bizarre but it's true.

Young people may be curious, groping in the dark, trying to make sense of life's mysteries but the adults are not that much better.

When MTN introduced bluetooth; short text messages could be swapped from one Sim card to another.
I assisted customers transfer their data.
Men from all walks came to save their text messages. At times I literally wanted to duck behind the counter because the texts were mucky with obscenity's.
Dignified men dressed in suit and tie, nice shoes - classy; the unkempt guys, sweaty, torn collar - all stating very important info that needed to be kept.
I avoided eye contact as though I was the guilty one.

David should have asked "How can Man keep his way pure?"
But then the answer is the same -by living according to God's Holy word.

Who am I?

Who am I?
That the Lord of all the earth,
Would care to know my name,
Would care to feel my hurt.
Who am I?
That the bright and morning star,
Would choose to light the way,
For my ever wandering heart.

Not because of who I am,
But because of what you've done.
Not because of what I've done,
But because of who you are.

I am a flower quickly fading,
Here today and gone tomorrow,
A wave tossed in the ocean,
A vapor in the wind.
Still you hear me when I'm calling,
Lord, you catch me when I'm falling,
And you've told me who I am.
I am yours.

Casting Crowns

Bad company

I was chocked with anger and rage last evening.
Why?, you ask why?
Well of course you ask why, and I will tell you.

I spend a lot of time and energy training my little boy to walk the straight and narrow, to respect his elders, to obey and that sort of thing. It's a heavy duty assignment from my creator and I'm grateful that He helps me a long the way.

A neighbours child constantly knocks on our door pleading that Mich go out and play with him. For the most part I was hesitant, but certainly Mich appreciates "little" company so either Sam or I would watch them as they played.
Over time this child has left a sour taste in my mouth. You know that gut feeling that God gave mothers?. It's hard to explain, but it's there, you just know it when you see trouble, so I tried to keep Mich busy.

Just when I needed a justifiable reason to keep Mich away, an excellent opportunity presented itself.

After playing outside Mich was running his mouth off about many things. Like he saw a beautiful yellow butterfly with black spots, then he says "DJ and I have been breaking cars", shocked but thinking I missed it, I beg his pardon and he says "we have been breaking cars".
Toy cars?, what kind of cars?, trying not to let on that I'm absolutely freaked I took a deep breath and said " really? do you want to show me the cars?", he gladly says "sure, follow me".

To my shock and horror a car number plate had been unscrewed and was lying on the floor.
WHAT!!!!!
Clearly Mich had no sense of what he had done, he said he was following DJ's instructions.
WHAT???
I know he didn't do it, unscrewing bolts is not exactly game for Mich, but just the thought that he participated some how?! brrrrrrrrrr aaaagggghhhh.

DJ is 9, my baby just turned 5.

While I was extremely upset with DJ for tarnishing my baby's innocence I couldn't quite get my head round Mich's unconscionable act.
Is the conscience of a 5 year old not yet in gear? What happened to all our talk about good and evil? respect for peoples property?.

This is quite unnerving.

Why do I have to be tapped with such big wake up calls?, I wasn't even sleeping in the first place.
I turn monstrous and burn like a fire when someone messes with my boy; don't touch him physically, more importantly don't mess with his mind - just don't mess with him period.

Two things, make that three.

One, I run back to Jesus and ask for wisdom.
Secondly, I swell with pride to think my God gets a lot more ferocious than I can imagine when anyone tries to mess with me.
Finally, no more DJ.

Aah Parenting!
God, how do you do it?

Give me just enough

Unbelievable! simply unbelievable - the whole thing.

Lately these statements trot through my mind with more frequency;-
-Less is more
-The love of money is the root of all evil
-"Give me enough food to live on, neither too much nor too little. If I'm too full, I might get independent, saying, 'God? Who needs him?' If I'm poor, I might steal and dishonor the name of my God."

Most every weekend, huge pickup trucks drive into our complex. We see people loading up their property and moving out. On Saturday the drive ways were near deserted, I hardly saw signs of life in the area.

This financial crisis is really doing its thing.

Leaves me in awe of how God is keeping us.
We don't have much, the stakes are up against us but somehow there is peace, He continues to put food on our table and a smile on our faces.

Watching 20/20 the other day, I saw people literally go from riches to rags. It's incredible the dire poverty these tough times have brought on people. It featured a guy who owned a hedge fund now doing pizza delivery, a CEO now a cleaner.
A couple literally drowning in credit card debt, and lacking running water in their huge private mansion.
Not to mention AIG and the infamous Madoff.

How did things get this bad?
Obviously several factors come in to play but I think crazy money-love and lavish spending top the list.
The desire to have more than you need because you've got the means to purchase it. If you don't have the means, you find a way of acquiring it.

You know?! it's true - "Never judge a book by it's cover". While people may look spiffy, there is no telling how they are keeping up appearances. The outside might look flashy but debt is taking the run of the house.
While Africans suffer from power hunger and corruption - the bazungu and banyaga here suffer from credit cards and excess.
We want-they waste, but either way we all become silly, that is why King David was right to say "Lord, give me just enough".

Chapter 16

It's good to try something different.
That, for some might mean tasting frogs, bungee jumping, going skiing - well, you fill in the gap.

I'm going to try my hand at writing a best-seller, no? okey a seller?!- something. Hoping that you will not delete my blog after this.

It was a drab, wintry night in mid december,
the air outside was choked with snow flakes and gusty winds.
She clasped her hands and prayed as she looked out the car window -
"Lord, Is there any chance of a miracle? a different report?
You know I don't want this - No Lord, please - I'm weary".

Her heart skipped a beat, jolted out of a prayerful mode by the sensation of the little life moving and kicking in her womb.
She caressed her belly, "hush my little one, don't kick mummy too hard" - even though she relished being awakened to the wonder in her womb - the movements made her wince.
She recalled carrying her first child and the thrill that pattering gave.
Why was it so excruciating this time? could the baby sense her strife? was her body escalating the intensity of the problem at hand? or was her little one engrossed a blissful dance, oblivious of events in the world beyond the womb?

As the car pulled up the hospital drive way her heart sank, she could almost feel it making it's way down, passed her lungs, round her intestines, headed straight to the bottom of her belly.
"Lord, is this it?"
There was no answer.

She slowly, carefully, wrapped her scarf around her neck - with a distant look in her eyes, zipped up her jacket and opened the door. With one hand firmly griping the support handle and one below her belly, she placed one foot out of the car, then grimacingly inched forward. It seemed with every passing moment, her stomach got heavier.
Her husband brought the wheel chair close enough so she could sit.
As she raised out of the car their eyes met.
He looked sad - it was a painful night.

She recalled the night, three days before, when she had rushed to hospital; the vacant look in the doctor's eyes as she told her they couldn't save her baby.
How she shook like a leaf, certain that she was losing her mind.
The doctor said she was in labour at only 21 weeks - her cervix was dilating, the situation irreversable.
She recalled, lying on the hospital bed that night, tears streaming down her cheeks, wondering how this happened.
She shut her eyes tight, wishing she could vanish.

In this new country without a friend or a relative to hold her hand.

Her best friend and partner was at home with their son because these people didn't believe in house help, how was a woman expected to work, cook, clean and be wife and mother all at the same time. It was because of this new culture that her husband couldn't be there to hold her when she needed him most.
"Lord, why?
Her heart was pounded intensly, she could barely think.

Looking out her hospital room window, the world was bustling with life - Christmas lights on every street corner, cars whizzing passed in all directions. The merriment of the season was passing her by.
Nobody cared for her misfortune, she didn't exist.

In that room, surrounded by four white walls, she faced death.


Her family was miles away; across the ocean, in another time zone, another place.
She cried out to the Lord again and in the chaos of a wondering mind, a strained heart, a body out of control - she heard a voice saying "FEAR NOT MY CHILD, I'M WITH YOU"
The undeniable voice of her heavenly father.

I love spring

                                                        

Get up, my dear friend, fair and beautiful lover—come to me!

Look around you: Winter is over; the winter rains are over, gone!

Spring flowers are in blossom all over.

The whole world's a choir—and singing!

Spring warblers are filling the forest with sweet arpeggios.

Lilacs are exuberantly purple and perfumed, and cherry trees fragrant with blossoms.

Song of Solomon 2:10 - 14 (The Message)

A visit to Kasubi tombs

Ever get tangled on the fence of - the grass is always greener on the other side?
Peer into your own back yard, you just might find something new.

After 2 years in the United States, getting acclimatized, enchanted and offended; I missed home.
I dreamed and reminisced about the unique experiences Uganda offers, so much so that I made a list of must-do's when I got back.
Apart from munching on my favourite local dishes, spending hours on end with family, meeting friends and dismantling pork at Zanzi and other such places, I wanted to travel the country.

When you see hundreds of thousands of people flocking historic sites - rain, shine or snow. Countless numbers waiting in line to buy tour tickets, view the Vietnam wall or the Lincoln memorial, then you will also be tempted to ask if your country has nothing to show.

That, my friends is how I ended up trekking up to Kasubi tombs.
The burial grounds for Bugandas Kings.

I was greeted at the entrance by a young man who asked me to sign the visitors book. He led me to another room where I had to pay a visitors fee and sign yet another book.
Then I was introduced to Nicholas, my tour guide.

Because I wore trousers, I got handed a fabric to hide my indecency.
Shoot! how could I forget tradition? - visiting the tombs of the Kabakas' of Buganda in pants? What was I thinking?
I certainly didn't want any of them sitting up in their graves on my account, getting scandalized by this Atesot girl who didn't know better, so I wrapped the clothe round my waist.

The place was near deserted but then again it's a grave yard. Duh!
Most every thing was ancient, with the musty smell of dried herbs, dust, papyrus, bark cloth, coffee beans and animal skin. My senses were on the road to archaic events when Nicholas asked, "where are you coming from" I said "oh!... Ntinda". Not convinced he asked again and again I said "Ntinda"
He seemed to imply that there was no way I could have woken up and decided to spend precious moments at the tombs. I had to be a journalist or visiting from another country.
Realizing that short of scratching his curiosity I'd never get to tour, I mentioned I'd been here and there.
That got us moving.

A couple of old women sat, weaving mats, at the entrance to the hut.
We paused and I let Nicholas do the greeting while I mumbled something in the back ground.
Apparently those women were "Bazaana"- Kabaka's wives.
Fine, but explain one thing, how is it that the kings wives are still alive decades after the guys passed away, did I miss something? I should have asked Nic.

I took off my shoes, humbled myself (whatever that means) and entered the hut.

As we sat down this man walked in, knelt, put some money in the basket and bowed. Apparently he had come to seek a blessing from the gods.

Anyway, Nicholas narrated the history of the Buganda Kings; King Mutesa was born in 1856 died in 1864, he had 84 wives,100 children.
That explorer Henry Morton Stanley wrote a letter to the Queen of England resulting in the introduction of "religion" in Buganda through the Church Missionary Society.
That before Mwanga became king he was a chef.
Daudi Chwa became king at the tender age of 1 year, Mutesa II succeeded him and Mutebi is the present king .
He was reciting this information like he'd memorized a history essay.

I got a little impatient.
Recalling the stories from my P3 and S3 history classes, all I wanted to do was check out the place - 'show me the graves'.

Behind the curtain of bark cloth covering a section of the hut was a place called "the forest". King Mutesa I is said to have disappeared into the forest where he died and that became the burial ground.
It's a restricted area so I was left high and dry.


 Nic pointed out that the hut was supported by 52 pillars, all wrapped in bark cloth, and the 52 rings on the roof of the hut represented the 52 clans of Buganda.

He led me out of the hut and as we walked to the gate he tried to sell me a book he'd written.
He said he wanted to study for his masters in America and asked for advice on how get connections. Sadly I couldn't help.

That was the end.

I handed back the fabric and made my way home.
It was an anti climax; I thought there was more to see than just that one room.

If all the history is in crammed in there, then... ??

Happenstances

Today, I'm thinking.
Thinking back to random happenstances that made my heart swell.
Chance meetings with teachers from my past.

My P.1 English teacher - Miss. Kabajasi
She always had a smile, her face lit up every time we met.
In P.2, I missed her, she wasn't my teacher any more.
Each time we met on the school campus, she was curious to know how I was doing.
That's how we begun playing tip/tag.
If we met and her fingers where not crossed I gave her the "tip" or she me.
Almost 25 years later, while walking on the streets of Kampala, some one hoots at me and stops.
I walked over, uncertain of who was inside.
There - Miss Kabajasi, looking pretty much the same and I, 25 years older. She called me by name, that - priceless.

My primary school headmaster - Mr. A.D.Ssozi
In a mass of over 1000 kids, he remembered little me.
He'd wave as he rode passed on his motor cycle.
15 years later, looking a lot older, still smoking his pipe, going off to play tennis at Kampala Club; he recognised me called me by name and asked about my parents and siblings - that, priceless too.

My p6 class teacher -Mr. Senabulya
One of the neatest teachers in the school. On occasion he would request me to fetch his lunch from the kitchen. I hurried along, glad to help.
15 or so years later I walked into the same school.
He, now the headmaster, smiled and called me by name. I sat down and we had a chat like two grown adults - priceless.

My high school history teacher - Mr. Tanga
Short guy, very energetic, walked with his hands bowed at his sides like he was beginning to swell,"throwing around his weight" like he used to say.
He was a very creative teacher, made us laugh and love history.
Most everyone wanted to pick his mind;- he'd written a book, lectured at Makerere University and taught in my high school.
Imagine my exhilaration when about 10 years later, he hoots from his SUV and flashes the biggest smile ever in my direction. I was so happy to see him, I nearly waved with both hands, sigh - that is priceless.

This is a special one.
My Literature teacher - Miss. Mubiru
Sweet little lady, always working to see her class excel. She fell sick at some point and we didn't see her again.
Years later, while at a choir recital at Namirembe Cathedral, I spotted her in the crowd. She was obviously happy to see me, but I couldn't understand a word coming out of her mouth.
She was mumbling.
She pulled out a pen and paper and wrote; she was happy to see me.
She lost her speech and hearing when she fell sick of cerebral malaria.
Because of her son's love for music she brought him to listen to the choir.
Her little boy was on the front row.
I stood there, speechless, close to tears.
She said she was taking speech classes, hopeful that it would all come back to her.

Precious!

That's all she wrote folks.

Dog love

Americans never cease to amaze.

So the other day Oprah proudly announced she'd got a new baby.
I thought that's cool, she is adopting a child?!

"She's a beautiful little girl", I'm thinking okay, nice.
Then out comes a blond cocker spaniel (that's a type of dog - for those of you).
At this point the viewers are "ooh-ing" and "aah-ing".

Once we met a guy in Lancaster, real sad and miserable, when we got talking, his dog was under going eye surgery.
On another occasion, while taking a walk in Philly, I took this picture.

The dog was set in the drivers sit, alone, like the next minute it would flip out the keys and get cruising.

I like dogs, they are wonderful, loyal creatures.
In fact during my childhood my dad had 9 dogs, we played with them, taught them tricks, washed them- the works.

They stayed in their kennels and we stayed in the house.
When it was time to play we all went outside, no sitting room, dinning, kitchen, anywhere in the house sort of thing.
They ate left overs, and no, we didn't bottle fed them.

Even though they were nice and tame, they helped to keep unwanted visitors at bay.

Now, for some Ugandans it takes just seeing a dog to get them weak in their knees, then they are crying for their "mamas".

Remember houses in Nakasero and Kololo that had signs reading "Umbwa kali" meaning "fierce dogs" or something like that?.

When Oprah mentioned dog diapers and all, I nearly got Ma to the damn D E A kind of mad. The "whatchu talkin about?" bewilderment.
This money could really go to a good cause some where in Africa.
Ati dog diapers!

I know this might offend dog lovers but really, lets keep things in perspective - we are human and they are animals, we can't be on the same level.

Those diapers, diets, shampoos, e.t.c could fetch a little starving child a warm meal.

You will say in American style "we've got our rights", "I'll do what I want with what I have", true.
I just figured I might be fighting a losing battle here.

Pastor Senyonga in my "hood"

'Skepticism' describes my attitude on hearing that Pastor Jackson Senyonga was coming to preach at my church.

Pastor Rod blew for him but, "nah-uh!"
My mind was clouded with the incident that occurred last year.
I never found out whether or not it was true, but it was there fogging my view of the "managad"(man of God).

When he got behind the pulpit to preach, his accent reminded me of Ragga Dee.
I know, it's crazy.
But Ragga Dee's song Mbawe where he says "My lord, my god, my gaddi" kept flipping around in my head.

Anyway, too many distractions.

He talked about how the devil fights christians in several ways and how once, he was on a plane to some place when "an accusation planted itself".
That put me back on track, probably because he mentioned "it".

The sermon was quite inspiring- about trusting God and what He has done in the passed.
He's been faithful, brought us through some really tough spots, why wouldn't He do it again?.

He urged us to be a people of vision, to dream bigger than what we can see, to be a people of prayer not casually or in crisis but committed prayer warriors.
By this point the congregation was on their feet in prayer and thanks giving, we were stirred up and encouraged.
It was intense! but I couldn't resist chuckling when he said we should ask God to "excelelate blessings in our lives", at this point people looked at him with blank faces, but being a Ugandan I knew he meant "accelerate".

Ok, so I have exposed my wickedness and the wanderings of my mind.
But when all is said and done, I was blessed to hear Pastor Senyonga preach.

People will always have misconceptions but it's great to know that God will vindicate His own and use them to further His kingdom.

Big D - 3 months down

It's been 3 months since I nestled in the warmth of Dallas and I'm loving it.

Texans have got this southern hospitality thing going on; they are free and easy, courteous, warm and involving -the talkative library guy not withstanding.
People greet, nod and smile as they cross paths.
Drivers will slow down or stop just so I can cross the road.
The post man calls me by name and asks about Uganda, while I'm still speechless, he asks about my husband and how he hasn't seen my little boy in a while.
One can have a genuine conversation over here and people remember, in some cases they will call just to find out how you are doing.

If only this was in the file of my first American experiences.

Philadelphia gave me the creeps in every which way, I'm still not over it.
At some point I thought I was the problem.
That I was weird for wanting to go beyond the surface in my relationships.
That shaking hands and giving hugs was so not right.
That speaking when I hadn't been spoken to was just crazy.
That allowing Mich to run around unsupervised, (by that I mean not watching his every move), could land me in the hands of the law.
Whatever went down on the East Coast? or is it Philly?


"Philadelphia" certainly wasn't any where near "the city of brotherly love"; that name was misappropriated.
I will not even start sighting examples, they are way too many. We wouldn't like to spend the entire day reading one post now would we?.

I have dragged the city through the mad way too long.
But I don't apologise.

Sure, it had it's high lights, can't think of any right now though.

Okay. I loved it for its rich history, I learned about America's childhood and run up the Rocky stairs.

The Liberty bell, -"Let freedom ring".

Congress hall, where the declaration of independence doc was signed.


Rocky Balboa statue, if you haven't watched Rocky I, II, and III, look out for it. Does the name Sylvester Stallone ring a bell?

There was lots to see and do.

Armish life, interesting religious sect in Lancester county.

Plus, it's a walkable city.
I didn't get why people swore by the Philly cheese stake though, I got to eat one, maybe it was the African in me that shone through.

Waiting room

While at the library this morning, I met a gentle man in the waiting area. As it turned out I was early, so this is what transpired over the 45 loong minutes of waiting.

As soon as I sat he asked how I was doing.
He was probably in his early 50’s or late 40’s; certainly could have passed for a CEO or manager of some company or the other.
Then like he had been waiting for me, he spoke passionately about how he had applied for some job, was turned down and now he was upset that the ad was in the papers.
“I just want to leave this place, can’t wait to get over with this court case and I will be out of here.”
Pause.
“I will probably go back to Albuquerque, the people there are a lot nicer, don’t know why I came here in the first place, no one wants to hire me.
I can’t wait for the court case to be over”.

I was amazed at how the guy decided to unleash on me, but I understood there was a bit of frustration.
So I decided to play the shriek, “What happened? What is the court case about?”
He says “oh, it’s along story, but basically I got kicked in the face, put at gun point, dragged to the ground…”
Too much detail.

He goes on to say “Life is pretty rough”, at this point I see tears in his eyes and I’m thinking “oh my! What am I going to do with a crying man?” things are really bad.
He started coughing, pulled out a hankie and blew his nose.
Turns out he had flu or rather his sinuses were acting up due to the weather, phew!
That was a relief.
At that juncture another guy walked in and they struck up a conversation, phew!
More relief.
Never met a more talkative mzungu.

So he asks the guy who just walked in if he had found something to do.
Guy says “yeah, got something with wal-mart”.
Talkative guy says “that is really neat, I love wal-mart, they pay good. What are you going to do there?”
Guy says “I don’t know, stuck up boxes or something, anything really”
Talkative guy says “That’s really nice, you are lucky man”.
I get out a book to read, hoping I can drown out their voices.

Talkative guy says “I wish I could turn back time, I never would have worked for O’reileys”, he said this like three times.
My book-reading wasn’t working.
I decided to get out a pen and paper and scribble some stuff down.

Then he asks the other guy if he is on food stamps, guy says no.
Asks him if he has a girlfriend, guy says yes, at this point I’m wondering where he is going with this?. Well, your guess is as good as mine, no where really.
Then silence.

Talkative guy begins to recite the alphabet, I’m thinking, “you have got to be kidding me”.
Out of the blue he mentions how his 94 year old grandma passed away two weeks ago.
He says “I don’t know if there is life after death but if there is, she sure must be happy. I bet she will meet up with old friends”.
Then mentions how he is getting 2 new pairs of jeans real soon, adding up to a total of 5.

Sports channel was showing basket ball.
Talkative guy mentions how there was this guy in school who was 6’10 but he never played the game. “I mean he could touch the back board with his big hands without straining”.
“We asked him why he didn’t play, because that sure puzzled us”.
“Turns out that he was gay”.
Boy oh boy! Did that crack me up or what?!

At some point I got lost in my own thoughts, when I got back he was talking about C-sections and how both his wives had them.
Finally the librarian came to our rescue by opening the doors.

In all of 45 minutes I knew this guys life history.
I concluded that Mark Twain's novels like "The adventures of Huckleberry Fin" and Tom Sawyer are not all lies, there are some people who fit the profile.