There are certain things, in my mode of existing, that are left forgotten. For example, I never check the climate or the present temperature before moving to a country. I hardly ever buy a map and I rarely use a guidebook. I was raised by a walking guidebook and we usually deceived the traveler’s how-to.
This being said, I highly recommend knowing the temperature first, and preparing somehow, as if possible, when the heat is through the roof. I am melting layers of Merissa all over the streets of this complicated town. It is mixing with the dog piss and the fruit slush and the creepy man’s front yard waterer.
Today I am more awake than yesterday. Yesterday more awake than the day before. I was near dead the day before, on fire with 103 temperature and what felt like a flicking rubber band inside my brain. I nearly passed out every time I stood and ate a banana and some rice in three days.
Today I tried a juice, from the juicer, a carrot, ginger, apple, celery thing. It was a lost cause.
What is there to say to someone asking about this place, this life, this twisted trip? I love teaching. I love my students. Some are scary, the anger in their eyes, others exquisite, the softness in theirs. One man said the most expensive thing he ever bought was a plot of land. Where? In Darfur.
Being a refugee always sounds so sinful. It is so not sinful. Today is world refugee day. I would picket the streets with the rest of them, only the sun, it seems, is out to slowly kill me. So I will save my energy for teaching English and let someone else take to the streets.
As for a map. I still prefer asking, same goes for a guidebook. It is more exciting that way, gently dropped in the right direction. This method includes failure, which is part of the fun.
That is all I can muster. Been literally asleep for two days fighting someone else’s flu. Good morning.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
0 comments:
Post a Comment