Jessamyjoy's travel blogs:
- Senegal 2007
- Two months translating, interpreting and... 2005
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Sleepless Nights
Entry 18 of 33 | show all | print this entry |
The cool breeze from the fan flutters the mosquito net in graceful wisps as the squeaking of the bats lulls me to a desire for the sleep that's recently eluded me. I roll over to face away from the small gleam of the porch light that sneaks through the blowing curtains and open window. Thoughts of the greasy street vendor fried bean cakes and yam fries I've been promised for later this week, memories of the drumming and singing that just strolled past my night window, visions of new faces, all smiles and bright eyes, the sweet left-over taste of ripe mango, the imagined continuation of the novel I'm devouring after years without leisure reading, the struggle to clarify a phrase or terminology in one of the many documents I'm pouring over, the relief at having survived another day without bug bites or tummy ache...my mind floods with images, aromas, sounds, anything and everything but the rest by body cries out for...and then, without knowing how, I drift away.
Chu-chunk. Whirrrrrrrrrrr. Power cut. Fan's off. The familiar feeling of the heat creeping over my body pushes me out from under the single sheet that serves merely to protect me from the loneliness of the oppressive dark. I stare into the vast nothing above my bed. I want sleep. I sense the curtains billowing with a sudden gust of invisible wind through the invisible trees and invisible walls. Twink. Twink. Twank. Soft rain on the tin roof. Clang! A door somewhere swings open. I don't hear the reassuring squeaky toys of my pre-sleep night. The wind picks up and the rain begins to pound. My ears are filled with a rushing like I'm beneath the jet that left me here in this foreign land. Is the fan back? No. Electricity still out, but I don't need the light in my futile strain for slumber. Then there is light. I see the curtains as giant full sails, the bars of the window, the streaming water from the roof. Darkness. Then I see the white knight, puffing in and out with each gust and the trees dancing a crazy disco ball dance. Darkness. The lightning rips the night and illuminates my safe island of a bed every second until it seems as though the moon has descended to shine just for me. I hear branches beating each other and the buildings, accented by the bass of an occasional falling mango. The rain is a train trumbling by on dilapidated tracks, the wind threatening every moment to tear the fragile roofs from my neighbors' homes and leave them exposed to the violence of the rainy night.
I tear at the tucks of my nylon protector and struggle out from beneath it. Stumble into the light dark light dark until it seems just light. Down the hall, ginger hand gently brushing along the textured wall, to the kitchen, around the table, each window slapped shut with a chink. In the deep but brief darknesses my ears feel emerged in rushing water and I find myself longing for the safety of my restless bed, having left it only seconds ago. It must be nearly morning and I haven't slept a peaceful wink. Push the light on my travel clock. 1:54 AM. The whole night ahead. Returned to my room I feel the soft caress of my familiar fan brought back to life and bee-line for the window to see who else is awake. Lights peak from next door, but then again it's not that late.
The storm rages on and I curl beneath my feeble sheet, marveling at the emotion of the blistery night after such a placid day. Sleep doesn't come for what seems an eternity. I awake in an eerie quiet...then the gentle plick-placks of the trees shaking themselves, checking for broken branches, calling the birds and bats back to rest. I still find no rest. Morning is on its way...
Such are my insomniac nights. Rainy season, late in coming, is timid and only ventures out for wild parties at night...this morning unfurled with a mist like the foot of a waterfall and the day horded the cool until the afternoon sun sneaked its nose through the clouds. Now at 8:30 in the dark that settled in over an hour ago, I hear the persistent eek, eek of a lone bat outside my window and the striving cords of crickets in a soft breeze. You can't see it coming...
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