This tale begins at the tender age of five. We finish the plate of rotis and most likely our routine dinner time special of cabbage sabzi (bandha gobi tarkari in Odia) in our three bedroom apartment above Papa's office room in the heart of Dar es Salaam's industrial area, Kurasini. As Mama begins clearing the table, I am already strapping on my sandals and Papa is getting up to wash his hands. Shortly after, Mama is at the door with us and we are walking down a corridor towards a mesh gate on the first floor of the building. Upon stepping out, we arrive at a balcony. My tiny legs barely let me see what lies above the concrete barrier and Papa gently scoops me in his arms. In the distance, I see some distinct buildings in the 2006 skyline of Dar. I can see the Twin Towers, and the PPF Tower. I see the national port's cranes just barely grazing my view at the edge of the highway. I hear some lone cars drive by and see a couple of askaris, security guards, walking throughout the empty yard  directly infront of us. I probably see two trucks parked, with a couple of containers in the workshop bays. Despite this, the parking yard is still fairly empty and to me, it is my paradise. What can be more exciting than watching trucks with cars on two levels, walking joyfully with Mama Papa after dinner, and watching the stars above my head? Continue