Saturday, September 3, 2011

A Hundred Fans


My standing fan is broken and I am sweating in my hot little house as I finish the movie. I’m frustrated and itching for a cigarette. I’m thinking about tomorrow and the early trip I am taking to the regional workstation where I know I have a package from America waiting for me. I am planning my vacation, thinking about dinner tomorrow night, thinking about anything other than where I am right now, bored and alone in my hot, airless house.
I step outside as the credits start and I shut off my computer. I rummage through my purse until I find the battered box of local cigarettes with the inked label “last pack ever” across the lid. I sit in my bamboo chair and strike a match, my cat following me out the screen door to catch bugs in the florescent glow of my back porch light. I smoke there and notice the silence that has fallen in my neighborhood. All I can hear are the cicadas and the whirring of my small refrigerator fan, and the occasional moto engine in the distance. I’ve missed the sounds of the women pounding yams, or the children playing soccer with an old deflated tennis ball. Even the mosque is quiet, the evening call to prayer not even a whisper on the wind.
And there is a breeze out here, I realize. Once I step outside my cement house the cool air hits me and I wrap my pagne around myself a little tighter, enjoying the cool feeling, knowing that I’ll be sleeping soon without the comforts of a fan, wishing a had a hundred of them. I decide I want to travel to exotic places when my service here is over. I want to be a world traveler. I think about that for a while, filling my passport with stamps, taking trips with my lover, leaving the hypothetical kids at home. Mommy and Daddy trips, we’ll call them. We’ll eat local foods and learn local language. I think about those days in the future while I finish my cigarette.
I’m not ready to go inside yet. For some reason I feel like I’m missing something out here and as the winds shift I understand what that is. I am here right now. I am living here. I live in Africa. I live in Africa. Instead of berating myself for not living in the moment, I just stop thinking and listen to that silence. I watch Zaari as she intently stalks a carpenter ant and I really see her in this moment. I don’t think about the future, or my trips, or how hot I’ll be sleeping under my mosquito net tonight. I even manage to not try to guess what’s waiting for me in my American package. I just let myself go as silent as the night, and empty everything else in my life. I close my eyes and take a deep breath and find that quite unexpectedly, I am happy. I drink it in, feeling the world as simply a part of my happiness, as part of the love that I have for myself, for Zaari, for that carpenter ant.
It doesn’t last very long and soon I am wondering if there are Oreos waiting for me tomorrow and debating whether or not I should order French fries for dinner. I set my watch for three minutes and decide to meditate. I know I should get back into the habit and I’ve always felt centered after doing so. I cross my legs over the bamboo armrests and close my eyes again, forgetting the time, forgetting dinner, clearing everything away but my smile and the love I feel for the whole world. I think of myself as a small island with all the stress and frustrations swirling around me and disappearing into the earth through the legs of my chair. I breath deeply and every time my mind wanders I gently bring myself back to the center of myself, my island of calm and peace. When my watch beeps I am genuinely surprised. It had felt like 30 seconds, like I had just begun to find that peace. I stand and stretch, the pagne falling to my feet. I am here, in this moment under the African sky. I will not be shaken; we are all as one. I take another deep breath for good measure and decide to take a quick bucket shower to rinse off before climbing into bed for the night.
As I step over to my shower I see a small spider is floating at waist level, diligently building a web in the evening glow. I watch her work with a small smile on my lips. Typically freaked out by spiders I am impressed with my own calm, a direct result of my awesome meditation and powers of living in the moment, I think. She is, however, blocking my entrance to my shower. I wiggle my finger in the space around her, thinking I guess of lifting her web and depositing her elsewhere so that I can cool off in the water and go to bed in peace. Instead of just allowing me to move her, however, the spider rapidly climbs up the web and onto my hand. Immediately my calm peaceful meditation mindset vanishes and I am totally freaking out, wiping my hands together, jumping up and down, heart beat racing, praying that the damn thing is dead and not crawling over my naked skin burrowing in to lay her freaky baby spider eggs.
As my heart slows and I am sure that I am not the future host for a hundred spider babies, I start to laugh. Quiet at first and then full out cracking up. I actually have to lay my hand against the wall to steady myself (after making sure there are no bugs of course). I laugh for longer than I meditated, until my eyes are tearing up and I’m sure that nothing makes any sense anymore at all and that’s okay. I don’t have to be a balanced work of art, I can be a messy finger painting. I don’t think I could live in the moment, every moment even if I really wanted to and devoted my entire life to it. I need to plan, I need to think about the future, tomorrow, my vacations, my trips, my package from America with the possible Oreos. That’s who I am and that’s really alright, too.
I pour a couple of bowls of cool water over my back and smile, loving the cold chill of the simplicity of it, loving my body, myself. I close my eyes and rinse off the day, the stresses and frustrations, the heat, and I am content. As I step out and pick up my fallen wrap I realize that I had just spent the last few minutes living in the moment without even trying, just actually being and experiencing life. I grin to myself as I shut my screen door and put Zaari to bed.
As I climb under my mosquito net I decide that I might spend the entire night feeling too hot, wishing I had a fan, wishing I was somewhere else, but that when it really counts I can find my own inner peace, too. And that knowledge is worth a hundred fans.

1 comment:

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