Wilderness Writing

It’s chillier now that we’ve finally transitioned into these rainy season days. Early morning solitude only lasts a moment before little feet are heard scampering down the dark hallway. Living off grid, the solar power lingers in waiting for the sunshine to transition it from red to green. My “fall” is infused with the hot African sunshine, flowers in full blooms and green grass growing vibrant in the daily downpours. My recently changed letter board on our cluttered entryway table reads, “Give me that African breeze and pumpkin spice please”.  There are three colorful kitenge pumpkins that line the handmade stairs with a burlap banner reading “give thanks”. A small stash of Starbucks Pumpkin Spiced instant lattes are saved somewhere in an upstairs bin for precisely this moment.  After seven years on the field, I still dig around in a bin under my bed for my handful of fall scented candles - apple cinnamon and autumn spiced pumpkin, a parting gift from a dear friend who left U...

The   hammering is deafening,   but today it’s for demolition and not for building. It’s being used to destroy in order to make space.  And creating space sometimes takes some breaking. A breaking of the walls that stand in the way.  My chest tightens, My breath is held. My eyes wince with each heavy blow. I want to both look away and watch for any signs of the cement countertop cracking. That large one attached to the very same wall. The red brick dust puffs up in the air, like clouds inside searching for a way out. I watch it surrender and settle, leaving a heavy layer of muted crimson over everything left exposed.  The clean dishes from this morning are still drying under the big towel draped over them. Hidden under a blanket of terry cloth they rest.  They wait.  As do I.  I know it won’t all be finished today or even tomorrow. And so I’ll have to find contentment in the mess of this situation. Where creating room to move and make home, also l...