Something I wrote ages ago:
I had an Africa flashback this morning, waking up the warm, stifling,
achingly familiar humidity. When I opened my front door the cool damp
air washed a decade away, and I could hear the chatter and rustle of
weaver-birds in among the dew-soaked banked fire of the flame trees’
long red leaves.
The drums that beat a pulse through my sleep all night are silent,
dancers spent, their passage through the other world closed by the
dawn. I can hear in the distance the call to prayer: “There is no God
but God . . . come to prayer; prayer is better than sleep.” And
closer an old tire rim and a piece of rebar are a carillon, calling
the faithful to break their fast on the fruit of the true vine and the
bread of life.
I can feel the cool tiles on the veranda under my feet, and the
ephemeral breeze, delicious now because it will soon turn to rising,
shimmering curtains of liquid fire. Have you ever been so hot you
shivered? That’s what the sun is like in Africa.
Breakfast is a grapefruit the size of a volleyball, bursting with
bittersweetness. Yesterday’s baguette, and wild intoxicating honey
that killer bees distill from the riotous flowers that sprawl along
our garden wall. Juice of oranges bought from a fruit-seller a minute
ago.
I only remember good things, of course :-) Never there being no
water, the choking red dust, the drain and fatigue of the heat, bugs,
diseases…