“Another Bright Day”

originally written sometime in 2002 in Abuja, Nigeria

—

Quiet would be a lie; the asphalt hummed in earnest heat. Even the shade could barely provide solace. Fighting with flies and fireflies and other strange many-eyed creatures that buzzed unceasingly, was barely attractive. The day was a high yellow. And somehow no one wore sunglasses. A lazy sun straddled 3:30pm in Abuja in July; the crickets bellowing their protest. No one was perceptively breathing, except the flap-flapping of our slippers. The buckets of now warming water becoming heavier with every step to a house with no electricity, balancing precariously on youthful heads atop unstable necks. This means bare-chested men and women wearing nothing else but wrapper. Which means no A/C. Which means the elders were indoors, fanning themselves and speaking slowly about so-and-so’s son who hasn’t yet married. What shame. And at his age. And his father works in the minister’s office o! Lazy conversations for slowing minds and a dragging bright day. My siblings and I were making it over the final hump home and the brick-layered house sizzled in the 50 yard distance. My sister’s bucket already half empty, her squeaking slippers now adding to the non-noise of our neighborhood. Where were all the cars? Not a soul having not a place to go, everyone waiting for their ceiling fans to squeak on and their refrigerators to hum back online. 

I hoped Mom would consider grilling some turkey meat this evening. This week’s Friday market run had included re-stocking the suya pepper supply and fresh red onions, anyway…

[pictured: Abuja National Mosque, taken with a Blackberry]