difficulties

There is so little in between time in Garly. I crave a life that is not so demanding, unforgiving.

The weather exerts its presence all the time. The heat, the sandy wind, the unavoidable sun, the humidity before the rain. Precious space without the grating, testing wail of a baby. Relentless children’s noises from shrieking and pouting to sticks drumming on tomato paste cans.

When life isn’t in my face with noise or temperature, my eyes swim in the visually intensive goings-on.

The environment either deadly barren or bursting with life. Goats chomping on torn scraps of fabric. Sand pulsating with heat and smothering anything green. Rocks everywhere, treeless landscapes. But after the rain, tiny red bugs scampering over the grass that shoots up in minutes. Huge bodies of water slowly begin to collect fish and serve as temporary rivers for their clothes-washing convenience.

Achingly beautiful or breathtakingly ugly. Women’s perfect posture, sculpted collarbones, bright eyes. Movement without the hesitation of self-consciousness. Hollywood cheekbones, strong hands. But then, a mouth lined with gaping black cavities causing its owner to scream in agony. I cringe at fragile rib cages quietly demanding in their detailed presence. Ring-wormed hair spots, yellowed, sun-tired eyes, heels cracked beyond repair cushioned only by a centimeter of show sandal foam.

Every scene pulls something from me. Pity for a tired body, awe at the instant greenness of the scenery, curiosity, compassion, the emotions are endless and instant. I feel quickly and at first glance, before I have the chance to slam my heart shut. (A heavy door, like one to a walk-in freezer. Air tight, with a lock. A heavy duty, defense mechanism-type necessity, is this door to my feelings.) It is impossible to maintain my wholeness when I am moved by every second- inevitably extreme in a collection of lives so precariously balanced on “surviving.” So I swing the door shut, feel relief at the last bit of air escaping as the cushion settles against the metal, heavy and secure.

Up and down. Up and down. Relief with a rainstorm. Frustration at another delayed meeting. A sad good-bye as someone gets married to a Senegalese. A giggle at a scandalous comment. Impatience for lunch. A repressed sigh at an annoying neighbor. Helplessness at loud signs of poverty.

It is this oppressing lack that is exhausting to live in, breathe in, feel every moment. A lack that is heavy. Weighs me down into a hardened crystal of guilt or cold, necessary denial and the blankness that comes when the door to my heart slams shut after a first glimpse of hurt, struggle, endless need.

There is so little in between time in Garly. I crave a life that is not so demanding, unforgiving.