kar0ling

When I stepped into my apartment after work today, I was greeted by a wall of heat. They've turned on the heat in the building for the first time this fall, and I think I can lay to rest any fears of shivering all winter. Hopefully these tropical conditions will not persist, however. The second thing I noticed, after a flashback to the rainforest, was a loud hissing sound and a jet of steam rising from the radiator. Something appears to be wrong with the apparatus. I hope it will be fixed soon.

Heat. Barren landscape. Antelope. Heat. Birds. Antelope. Heat. Yes, you're right; all the antelope are really far away, and/or hidden behind pieces of grass. It's all part of the experience, my friends!

I wrote this piece back in September, after attending the "Peace and Unity" soccer tournament. A newly arrived white person in a west-central African village, I’m very conscious I don’t understand the culture, am not familiar with the customs and haven’t got a clue what is expected. So to be singled out for special honours is intensely uncomfortable—especially on account of my conspicuously white skin. Having presented a letter of introduction from my home church to the pastor of the village church where I’d be attending for the year, I was surprised and taken aback to have the pastor read it from the pulpit and invite me to receive the right hand of fellowship right there. The pastor proceeded to preach from the church covenant, saying we all have talents to use to serve God and serve we must. But my talents are so very small. There is so much to learn before my talents can have a place here. Later that day, events rubbed salt in the already smarting sore spot of...

The sky is mesmerizing. The night sky is so strangely luminous to my perception, a deep indigo, and a dusky grey, all at the same time. And so curious. The Golden Boy against this dark yet strangely glowing sky looks so lovely, yet bizarre; I don't understand. Until I realize what's wrong... ...there aren't any stars. It's just light pollution.

--> As a prairie girl, born and raised, I love the sun. The long glorious hours of light on summer nights are worth the long, dark nights of winter, especially with the snow to offer that luminous quality. Because what makes it all so great is the near-daily sunshine. It’s rare to go more than a few days without Mr Golden Sun on the prairies, and I love it. That’s why I didn’t mind the muggy days of transition season, when the sun would still come out again after a hard rain in the Cameroonian rainforest, despite the clouds in the air. You see, when a pounding rain in the morning which leaves big puddles on the ground is followed by a scorching hot sun, you can almost see those mud puddles rise into the air and hang there in a cloying mist, like garlic breath. Anything for some sunshine.

A while back I made pasta in my apartment. The most exciting moment was rinsing the noodles once they'd finished cooking. I just took the colander, and ran water over it--straight from the tap. How exciting is that!!!! If you haven't ever had to rinse pasta by dribbling filtered water over it, you'll probably never understand my glee.

Obviously, this does not refer to Cameroon, for there the daily exchange of light and dark is mostly unvarying and the two are portioned out evenly. The long, lingering evenings of a prairie summer have been glorious. I'm disappointed to see them come to an end. After a rainy day, I left my apartment to take a stroll down the Riverwalk for some fresh air and exercise. Though the wind was blowing, the air was cool, and the ground soggy, I was shocked that in the luminous half-light of the darkening evening there was no one else on the path enjoying the night. Thus comes the downside of our endless evenings--the short hours of sunshine during winter. Alas, they are coming.