Eyes wide open in the heat, I watch upside-down as the sun emerges over the neighboring rooftops. I flip over a few times, restlessly looking for coolness in the sheets or against the wall. My mind reels from the experiences of the previous day, the trivial errands that somehow became a never-ending induction to my self-imposed Odyssey. Everything ‘normal’ is strange to me now that I’m alone in a strikingly new world; even something so simple as walking creates questions of politics and naturalness. I can hear a fly colliding against the screen on my window— and realize that my senses and perception are heightened to hyper-awareness.
Echoes of yesterday’s acquaintances spiral through my mind as I repeat over and over the strings of Swahili that have stuck. Jambo, Habari? Nzuri Sana, Mambo? Poa, Karibu. Asante. (Hapana, Pole. Ndiyo, Tafahdali). The language is musical. The meaning of the few words I’ve gleaned seems intrinsically bound to each sound pronounced. “Asante” sounds saintly gracious. “Hapana” yells stop, penalty, negative, no. “Karibu” beckons, caring, come here you. Like a newborn, my brain already functions to meld symbols and significations. The slightest tones, expressions, reactions of everyone around me are perceived and organized with words subliminally captured.
I am waking exhausted from dream-learning, from reconciling myself with difference. Today will be passed quietly and meditatively—I must better prepare myself for change.
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