J-It starts when the storm comes in in the night. The thunder rolls and the lightning claps,
often knocking out the power for an hour or so and plunging us into perfect
darkness. The storm continues, illuminating
our compound and the white mosquito net over our bed with the occasional flash
of light and peppering our metal roof with steady drops of rain. Then the mosque down the street begins its
nightly ritual chanting for Ramadan at 9 PM sharp. It rises and falls in its sing-song way, and
we listen, unable to distinguish the words but appreciative for this new
instrument in our nightly lullaby. Last
come the hyenas that stalk between the houses here. They aren't the comical, laughing
variety. They make a rising “Woooo”
sound as they call the rest of the pack over to whatever food they have
found. This has been the symphony of our
nights ever since we got to Butajira, and I must say that I really enjoy this
nightly lullaby.
It's a lot like camping - your tent offers no protection from the sounds of the night. When you hear things, and you can't identify them, your imagination runs wild. Once identified, you begin to hear the nuance and shape of the sound. Your home provides you shelter against the dangers inherent to (some of) those noises. Knowing the sources, and appreciating their diversity, turns it from cacophony, into a symphony.
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