I woke up in a king sized bed with used sheets from the marche twisted in knots because they were too small from the beginning. My head was cloudy and I wasn't sure what time it was but I could tell it was another hot, sunny day. Maybe noon. I stepped into my bathroom and gave a half-assed attempt at hitting the mark. Then I opened the doors from my bedroom and stood on the brown tiled floor staring around the empty living room. A fan oscillated in the corner but no one was home. The grey pleather sofas looked like they were melting and over sized green bottles littered the floor.
The double doors of the living room opened into a sandy courtyard with palm trees, stepping stones, baby blue walls and a small carport that housed a John Deere green 1970 something four stroke Vespa and a black 2008 Sanya which was nothing more than a Chinese knockoff of a Honda.
A rooster in the distance. The banging of the mechanics across the dirt road. An old lady selling pounded manioc, or pineapples, or toothbrushes, from a tin on her head periodically announced her presence in a local dialect. A young man ready to fix the soul of your shoe rhythmically tapped together two pieces of wood as he canvassed the neighborhood.
I stepped to the right wall near the basket that held true garbage and looked up the steps that led to the second floor. No one.
I called across the wall, "Severin!?!"
"Kevin." he responded with a Franco-African accent.
"Tu est-la?" (You are there?)
"Oui." (Yes)
"Va." (Come in Ewe, Go in French)
"J'arriver." (I arrive -or- I'm coming)
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1 comment:
Quiero visitar este lugar una vez en mi vida, porque cuando hablas de alla miras en la distancia pensando de memorias asi. Yo se que estabas mas feliz en este tiempo de tu vida, pero tus amigos aqui estan felices que otra vez estas en nuestras vidas...tu sabes??
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