A day in sounds

Before the sun crests the mountain tops, the birds have begun. Their twitters and chirping carry into my open window at an ungodly hour as they announce to the world that the day is here. Despite the time, the adjusting of a radio at full volume is the next to make sure that I am wide and fully awake now. As if suddenly realizing people might still be sleeping, the radio is hushed, only to be replaced with an engine roaring to life in my driveway for no other purpose it seems but to make sure it will start again today. The car sits in idle until the working order is established and is revved one more time before that too is silenced. Yes, yes I am up now. I will get ready for the day. The hour passes quietly until I step outside and am greeted with the dogs, grumbling that they are once again, hungry. Tin dog bowls clash together with their unnatural twang to dislodge the ants before breakfast is served. Finally to work we go. The lowing cows wish the mazungu a good morning as they munch on their grasses. At work I am overcome with sound. The musical interludes of phones ringing, doors crashing shut, Kinyarwanda spoken at speeds and volumes as if trying to outdo one another, each trying to hold 5 conversations with everyone else. A step outside when it becomes too overwhelming. The birds, mellow in their trees now are pleasant and peaceful while the wind shuffles the eucalyptus leaves. A breath of calm. Next door the whistles are blown for recess followed by hundreds of children's voices raising into the air, laughing and calling after friends. The repetitious thud of the make-shift soccer ball come from the boy's side while the girls are chanting and clapping, stomping their feet and jumping in time to the rhythm. I've made it to lunch. The lid of the amandazi bucket pops open while the ijanas jangle in my wallet. Two ijanas for two amandazi please. My feet crunch on the dry and dusty road home. It's the dry season now. No rains. I let myself in the gate with a scraping clank while the continuous indistinguishable conversation of passersby is left outside. Home sweet home, where I get to dictate the noises in my house. Ed Gerhard or Andy McKee inspire my yoga practices which in turn give way to something more upbeat as I move about daily chores. Outside again with a soft snap of the lettuce leaves for my dinner. A match lit, gas hissing, and then a flame roaring softly under my pot of water who will soon begin its rumbling boil so I have clean water to drink. My fork on the plate accompanies the sounds to a movie during dinnertime. Nearly time for bed. The cicadas have replaced the birds in the endless chirping drone of nature. A truck rumbles down the road, threatening to lose a spare part, or an essential one. A stick on the rusted tire rim signals that it is 9:30 and time for me to go to sleep.