Walking on the Sky
I awake. Only to want to go back to my dream. Fall Back. To Sleep. NOW. I try and try to re-enter that world where I am somewhere else, but instead I feel wide awake and I can tell my mind's going to be flitting from place to place until 6:45am when I usually stir.
I glance at my indiglo watch my Dad sent-4:50am. Oh-not again. I woke up because I have to pee...AGAIN. Here I feel like an old woman-having to pee 2-3 times a night (usually). That never happened in America unless I'd been drinking alcohol. I attribute this constant whizzing to the Jumbo-MSG/bouillon flavoring added to every food item. I'm convinced it makes me retain water and eventually I have to let all that retained water out---like a dam that just can't do its job anymore. And the fact that I drink at least one flavored drink mix daily---you know those sugar-free ones; they make me pee a lot too, and I have a horrible habit of drinking a full liter before bed. What can I say? Old habits die hard.
My journey to the pit latrine is quick. No cockroaches lurking beneath its cover, probably because dawn is just on the horizon. My path from the latrine back to my house is short, but requires more effort than usual. All my energy is exerted to open the wooden door back to my house that is swollen thanks to the rainy season. I try to wish myself back to sleep, but to no avail. Streams of consciousness ricochet inside my brain like a ping-pong ball that's been hit too hard onto the table onto the basement wall only to bounce back and hit me square in the eye. Okay...I give up. I'm awake, with my thoughts and the sound of the corn leaves rustling as it gives warning of an approaching storm.
-I really hope Modou can make the shirt I designed.
-I hope Susan didn't steal all my 'going-out' tops. I want to wear them when I go home.
-I hope I make enough money when I get home to live on my own for once.
-Will I ever get married? Do I want to?
-Maybe I should take the Foreign Service Exam again, just for kicks. Can I pass it twice? Or am I pushing my luck?
-How long will I be home until I chop of my hair, my tan fades , and my blonde hair turns to dirty blonde/light brown?
-Is it going to rain on me at the lumo today?
-When will there be lettuce here again?
-Is it bad that I've rediscovered being a bookwork (it's been about 18 years)?
-How do I know when my backyard corn is ready to be picked?
-What's the name of the pizza place at the Marlton Circle? I can't believe I've forgotten. I want Salad Caprese.
-I love rainy season, but I can't wait until my things stop smelling like mildew.
-Does my village really like me or are they just pretending to?
-Why did Kendo (one of the girls I mentored last year) take a husband while I was in Kombo? How long are her dreams of going to school going to last?
-What happened to baby Mariama?
-Why are there so many crickets in my house?
Of course my thoughts---random, ridiculous, and raw---slowly wear me down and I'm tired again. As those ping pong balls ricocheted, I was in a state of being awake and being asleep. I could see an image of an apartment in Philly, or my house on a lake, or a commute into work, but those thoughts faded as the sounds of the wind stirring and the rain pelting the corrugate became louder in my distorted reality.
Get up and close the windows, you lazy bum. Hurry back inside before the family awakes and sees that I too, am awake.
I have 40 pages left of the novel I'm reading, and I fight the sleep that comes just as the sunlight filters through the blanket of morning rain clouds. My buckets are lined on the walkway, catching water from the roof. Believe it or not, I use it to bathe as it's cleaner than if I fetched water from an open well.
Some days, thoughts like the ones above dominate my mind. At night under the amazing sky of stars, I sit and think. My family says I'm quiet or I don't talk and partially that's true because I can't. I can't have the conversations that I'm used to. To talk about Tida Sama (which one?) and her rice field or that it's cold or we need a tractor just doesn't interest me after the 10th time. I used to feel bad about my minimal attention span, but I don't anymore.
I once was walking through the bush near my house with a PCV friend who was visiting. It was dusk and we were taking a short cut through someone's field, past an old graveyard of a old, now, non-existent village as marked by the huge baobab trees. We paused and looked west at the cloud formation and the sun's reflection off them. All the people had left except for one woman weeding her hectare. As we stared at the clouds, the enormous trees, and vastness of the flat landscape, I asked my friend, 'What do you think she's thinking about all day?'
I think about my future and how I can enjoy the present. I think about the past, the what ifs, and the how tos. I think about the goals, motivations, and the next step. People here live day to day- and those that think ahead usually 'build castles in the sky' while brewing attaya, never really doing much to get them there or even close. But they must think about nourishing a child, their children, or imagining a world based on what's been heard and seen on TV (if they have access to one).
One night, when laying under the stars with my family, I was talking to my host cousin (who I call my sister), Fanta. She's 16, no more than 18 (determining age is a problem here). I was looking at shooting stars, and I noticed one wasn't actually falling, but orbiting. I thought it was a plane at first (rare here as they only fly near the coast), but then Fanta asked if it was a satellite. I'm pretty certain she was right. So it turns out she was paying attention in science class---Yes!
Fanta began asking about my trip to Sierra Leone, and whether I took a plane or car. 'We flew, ' I said. And she said, 'Do planes fly, or do they walk on the sky?' And I realized that my thoughts that ricochet at night, in the morning, during sleep, in a meeting, a Mandinka conversation, are not so abnormal. And I tell Fanta 'Planes fly, but I guess it is like they're kinda walking on the sky.' I used to be embarrassed of some of the questions that entered my mind and even now I'm embarrassed when they tell me I can't weed or sweep. It makes me humble, but it makes me rediscover an innocence that only being here, in a different world and plunged into a world of my thoughts that I cherish. And from now on I equate flying with walking on the sky...because my thoughts and experience let me see the world in a completely different way.
I glance at my indiglo watch my Dad sent-4:50am. Oh-not again. I woke up because I have to pee...AGAIN. Here I feel like an old woman-having to pee 2-3 times a night (usually). That never happened in America unless I'd been drinking alcohol. I attribute this constant whizzing to the Jumbo-MSG/bouillon flavoring added to every food item. I'm convinced it makes me retain water and eventually I have to let all that retained water out---like a dam that just can't do its job anymore. And the fact that I drink at least one flavored drink mix daily---you know those sugar-free ones; they make me pee a lot too, and I have a horrible habit of drinking a full liter before bed. What can I say? Old habits die hard.
My journey to the pit latrine is quick. No cockroaches lurking beneath its cover, probably because dawn is just on the horizon. My path from the latrine back to my house is short, but requires more effort than usual. All my energy is exerted to open the wooden door back to my house that is swollen thanks to the rainy season. I try to wish myself back to sleep, but to no avail. Streams of consciousness ricochet inside my brain like a ping-pong ball that's been hit too hard onto the table onto the basement wall only to bounce back and hit me square in the eye. Okay...I give up. I'm awake, with my thoughts and the sound of the corn leaves rustling as it gives warning of an approaching storm.
-I really hope Modou can make the shirt I designed.
-I hope Susan didn't steal all my 'going-out' tops. I want to wear them when I go home.
-I hope I make enough money when I get home to live on my own for once.
-Will I ever get married? Do I want to?
-Maybe I should take the Foreign Service Exam again, just for kicks. Can I pass it twice? Or am I pushing my luck?
-How long will I be home until I chop of my hair, my tan fades , and my blonde hair turns to dirty blonde/light brown?
-Is it going to rain on me at the lumo today?
-When will there be lettuce here again?
-Is it bad that I've rediscovered being a bookwork (it's been about 18 years)?
-How do I know when my backyard corn is ready to be picked?
-What's the name of the pizza place at the Marlton Circle? I can't believe I've forgotten. I want Salad Caprese.
-I love rainy season, but I can't wait until my things stop smelling like mildew.
-Does my village really like me or are they just pretending to?
-Why did Kendo (one of the girls I mentored last year) take a husband while I was in Kombo? How long are her dreams of going to school going to last?
-What happened to baby Mariama?
-Why are there so many crickets in my house?
Of course my thoughts---random, ridiculous, and raw---slowly wear me down and I'm tired again. As those ping pong balls ricocheted, I was in a state of being awake and being asleep. I could see an image of an apartment in Philly, or my house on a lake, or a commute into work, but those thoughts faded as the sounds of the wind stirring and the rain pelting the corrugate became louder in my distorted reality.
Get up and close the windows, you lazy bum. Hurry back inside before the family awakes and sees that I too, am awake.
I have 40 pages left of the novel I'm reading, and I fight the sleep that comes just as the sunlight filters through the blanket of morning rain clouds. My buckets are lined on the walkway, catching water from the roof. Believe it or not, I use it to bathe as it's cleaner than if I fetched water from an open well.
Some days, thoughts like the ones above dominate my mind. At night under the amazing sky of stars, I sit and think. My family says I'm quiet or I don't talk and partially that's true because I can't. I can't have the conversations that I'm used to. To talk about Tida Sama (which one?) and her rice field or that it's cold or we need a tractor just doesn't interest me after the 10th time. I used to feel bad about my minimal attention span, but I don't anymore.
I once was walking through the bush near my house with a PCV friend who was visiting. It was dusk and we were taking a short cut through someone's field, past an old graveyard of a old, now, non-existent village as marked by the huge baobab trees. We paused and looked west at the cloud formation and the sun's reflection off them. All the people had left except for one woman weeding her hectare. As we stared at the clouds, the enormous trees, and vastness of the flat landscape, I asked my friend, 'What do you think she's thinking about all day?'
I think about my future and how I can enjoy the present. I think about the past, the what ifs, and the how tos. I think about the goals, motivations, and the next step. People here live day to day- and those that think ahead usually 'build castles in the sky' while brewing attaya, never really doing much to get them there or even close. But they must think about nourishing a child, their children, or imagining a world based on what's been heard and seen on TV (if they have access to one).
One night, when laying under the stars with my family, I was talking to my host cousin (who I call my sister), Fanta. She's 16, no more than 18 (determining age is a problem here). I was looking at shooting stars, and I noticed one wasn't actually falling, but orbiting. I thought it was a plane at first (rare here as they only fly near the coast), but then Fanta asked if it was a satellite. I'm pretty certain she was right. So it turns out she was paying attention in science class---Yes!
Fanta began asking about my trip to Sierra Leone, and whether I took a plane or car. 'We flew, ' I said. And she said, 'Do planes fly, or do they walk on the sky?' And I realized that my thoughts that ricochet at night, in the morning, during sleep, in a meeting, a Mandinka conversation, are not so abnormal. And I tell Fanta 'Planes fly, but I guess it is like they're kinda walking on the sky.' I used to be embarrassed of some of the questions that entered my mind and even now I'm embarrassed when they tell me I can't weed or sweep. It makes me humble, but it makes me rediscover an innocence that only being here, in a different world and plunged into a world of my thoughts that I cherish. And from now on I equate flying with walking on the sky...because my thoughts and experience let me see the world in a completely different way.
posted by Stephanie at 2:47 AM
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