I'm pretty sure it rains overnight here, where I am, in Malawi*. It does not rain, my Dutch housemate corrected, as I peered out the window at the damp grass and watermarked concrete. But it's wet out every morning, I replied, peering with increased intent. Around the perimeter of our house is a scooped out moat-like concrete structure, about 2-feet wide. I believe its function is to catch roof runoff during the rainy season. That's a poor way to describe it; I'm sure there is a better way and I'm sure this structure has a name. In Tumbuka, I'd bet it starts with the letter M. A lot of Tumbukan words start with the letter M, which just happens to be one of my problem letters*.
I'm awake right now, under my mosquito net and in my bed. It is a handful of minutes to six. I was awoken by the cell phone ring of our watchman, beyond the (garage) door. Did I mention we have a watchman? I didn't quite understand what this meant the first few days here, either. We have a watchman, I was told, he comes at night and we have to make him tea.
Initially, the word watchman conjured up an image in my mind of a tall stately officer in one of those small British guard hats*. Was this because my English housemate was the first to tell me about him, so now every time I say the word watchman in my head it is in a subtle British accent? Maybe. But anyway I pictured our wahchmun rounding on our and our neighbor's houses 2 or 3 times overnight, maintaining a steady marching pace in his blue trousers with shiny buttons down the legs.
Oh Rebecca, how incorrect. You know that lawn chair that sits by the back door, the one you tried to move into the sun last week that promptly fell apart upon lifting? That's the watchman' chair! Right by our back door, in the pitch darkness relieved only by sprinkled stars, sits our watchman over night.
I've only seen him in the shadows, when I've handed him his tea thermos and biscuits, but I think that he wears one of those track suit zipper-ups with that scrunchy rain- proof material on the shell. Apparently our watchman changes every night, they cycle. I really have to get to know them better. I'll work on it. Back to under the mosquito net...
This past night, I'm sure it rained. You would hear the rain on the roof, my Dutch housemate had continued. Awoken by the watchman's phone, I'm kept awake now by a billowing wind that sounds like crashing waves. A lot of the windows and our garage door have cracks and crevices, where wood and metal panels don't line up perfectly, and through these openings I think this loud hissing noise is created. I also hear rain, which I'm sure is accumulating in that moat-like structure. Maybe my housemate, let's call her M, is right.
I'm going to get out of bed now. It is Sunday morning, and at 8AM I will accompany Emily, M, and the Ekwendeni community to church. When we leave the house in a few hours, our watchman will most certainly be gone. Our watchdog however, Duncan, I'm sure will be nearby. Did I mention we have a watchdog?
Have a good day and night,
Rebecca
*See blog URL.
*A problem letter is a letter, usually a constant, that you have trouble recalling pronouns with which it starts. As an example, I struggle with Matts, Michaels.
*I'm sure these have a name too.
I'm awake right now, under my mosquito net and in my bed. It is a handful of minutes to six. I was awoken by the cell phone ring of our watchman, beyond the (garage) door. Did I mention we have a watchman? I didn't quite understand what this meant the first few days here, either. We have a watchman, I was told, he comes at night and we have to make him tea.
Initially, the word watchman conjured up an image in my mind of a tall stately officer in one of those small British guard hats*. Was this because my English housemate was the first to tell me about him, so now every time I say the word watchman in my head it is in a subtle British accent? Maybe. But anyway I pictured our wahchmun rounding on our and our neighbor's houses 2 or 3 times overnight, maintaining a steady marching pace in his blue trousers with shiny buttons down the legs.
Oh Rebecca, how incorrect. You know that lawn chair that sits by the back door, the one you tried to move into the sun last week that promptly fell apart upon lifting? That's the watchman' chair! Right by our back door, in the pitch darkness relieved only by sprinkled stars, sits our watchman over night.
I've only seen him in the shadows, when I've handed him his tea thermos and biscuits, but I think that he wears one of those track suit zipper-ups with that scrunchy rain- proof material on the shell. Apparently our watchman changes every night, they cycle. I really have to get to know them better. I'll work on it. Back to under the mosquito net...
This past night, I'm sure it rained. You would hear the rain on the roof, my Dutch housemate had continued. Awoken by the watchman's phone, I'm kept awake now by a billowing wind that sounds like crashing waves. A lot of the windows and our garage door have cracks and crevices, where wood and metal panels don't line up perfectly, and through these openings I think this loud hissing noise is created. I also hear rain, which I'm sure is accumulating in that moat-like structure. Maybe my housemate, let's call her M, is right.
I'm going to get out of bed now. It is Sunday morning, and at 8AM I will accompany Emily, M, and the Ekwendeni community to church. When we leave the house in a few hours, our watchman will most certainly be gone. Our watchdog however, Duncan, I'm sure will be nearby. Did I mention we have a watchdog?
Have a good day and night,
Rebecca
*See blog URL.
*A problem letter is a letter, usually a constant, that you have trouble recalling pronouns with which it starts. As an example, I struggle with Matts, Michaels.
*I'm sure these have a name too.
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