Recollections: The Five Senses (NSW) (Complete)

[Amidala Skywalker]

So this is really, really rough. As in I just jotted it down and haven't looked it over at all. But I felt like I would post it because a) I like it and b) we need more activity here. So forgive the roughness of the writing...I'm not really looking for crit on this, but if you want to offer it then feel free.

 

This is recollections of the year I spent in Africa several years ago. Kayes is the city I lived in. You might not understand all the references (for instance, if you don't know what a baobab tree looks like), but I hope you all enjoy the emotions nevertheless.

 

***

 

Sound

The strange cries of the birds; the light twitters of the bright red fire finches, the annoyed chiding of the white-breasted crows, and the strange, piercing, undulating call of the brilliant green and blue and yellow grackels. The crowing of roosters and squacking of hens occasionally intersperesed with the light squeaks of chicks. Suddenly, above it all, comes the startling and ugly sound of a donkey braying. It is jarring the first time you hear it. Occasionally, the voices of the neighbors chatting away and greeting each other cheerfully trickle in through the open window. The low buzz and chirps of insects is ever pervasive, from both outside and inside the house. Five times a day comes the haunting, beautiful, and utterly foreign sound of the Muslim call to prayer from the loudspeakers mounted on the mosque across the street from the house. After a while, it becomes a sound of comfort, a steady reminder of the spiritual aspects of the world... The noises of Kayes.

 

Smell

Pungent and almost sickly sweet comes the smell of burning garbage. It is pervasive when the fires are lit. It flows freely, wrapping around the sweet blossoms of the trees and drowning out even their lovely scent. Exhaust and soot add a counterpoint of their own, but to me they provide a pleasant smell, a smell that reminds me of home and good times. Sometimes in the morning comes the smell of fried dough; the neighbor ladies are trying to gain a little extra income outside the gate of my house... The smells of Kayes.

 

Taste

Smooth and cool with a sharp tang is the taste I remember most; it is the taste of the gouda cheese with cumin, brought specially from the capital and carefully rationed. The flaky goodness of the baguettes, spread with salty mayonnaise, brings to mind many a relaxing morning break. The intense sweetness of the black Malian tea, served in three progressively sweeter stages. It is said to represent the stages of life; for me, it represents the friendships I made while drinking it. The sweet, refreshing, and wonderfully cool flavor of da syrup, frozen into a popsicle. The juicy sourness of hand-squeezed lemonade. The bland taste of rice. The juicy perfection of a mango or papaya dancing on my taste buds. Heidi's homemade baobab ice cream, which always tasted like lemon, but not quite lemon. The bitter shock I got when I tasted the dried baobab fruit... The tastes of Kayes.

 

Touch

The smooth warm grittiness of the sunbaked sand on my feet. The softness of the native clothing I wore. The hard, red, ridged cement on the floor of my house. The rough and almost dirty feeling of the native bogolan mudcloth. The heavy smoothness of cold coins in my hand. The wetness of my forehead after having been out in the boiling heat of the day... The feel of Kayes.

 

Sight

Enormous baobab trees dwarfing the rest of the landscape, their boughs alternately laden with leaves or dangling with fruit. Goats and cattle wandering through the sandy streets and shrub-covered outskirts, standing up on two legs to reach the best bark of the thorn trees. Motorcycles weaving through the traffic caused by buses and vans overflowing with passengers or cargo, as well as donkeys pulling carts laden with wood for the woodcutters. The distinctive leaves of the mango tree. The bright colors dancing off the dark skin of the Africans; often the patterns and colors clash so brightly that I wonder how it still manages to look good on them. The swirling two-toned patterns of the tie-died plastic kettles and tubs, ever pervasive, each with a myriad of uses. Fruits and vegetables of every shape, size, and color lining the streets, the proprieters of the tiny shops waving at you to come take a look at their goods, their white smiles flashing in the sun. As the sun sets, the sky fades from one type of brilliance to another; millions upon millions of stars and a gigantic moon light up the streets as if it were still day, causing you to not need to turn on your flashlight... The sights of Kayes.

 

This is the Africa I remember, an Africa that will forever remain in my heart and soul.

 

 

 

***

 

Ahh...I miss it.

[Tiana Calthye]

Nicely done. I was wondering what it was like... I've never traveled and occasionally long for other horizons. What most interested me was the call to prayer. I didn't realize there was actually a sound for that, I just thought it was what they did. And your description of the moon... very nice.

[Lord Ar-Pharazon]

What an interesting piece. Seriously, props for making something very original, and close your heart. The format was really original, yet near and dear to all of us, since so our experiences start with the five senses. Very Aristotelian. I haven't been to Africa, and quite honestly, I have no real desire to go there (not that I hate it, but because I'm a Europhile), so I started out with sort of a blank slate in my mind, with stereotypical images of jungles and savannahs in my mind, since that's what I know, and tried to fill that in with what you wrote. It's interesting what things become part of the day to day routine. I don't think I'd find any solace in noises coming from minarets, those Islamic calls to prayer, but perhaps in greater perspective, I would. I really don't know. I'd love to use a similar format to talk about where I've been. Many of the things you described reminded me of the summer I spent in Mexico. The burning garbage, for instance, and also ”œthe juicy perfection of a mango or papaya.”

[Jedi Kiara]

I didn't know you went to Africa, but then I am kind of out of the loop these days. . Anyhow, I love your discriptions, I think this would be a good excercise for any aspiring author. Nicely done!

[Tiana Calthye]

No kidding, what an out of the blue post. Welcome back.

[Darthe Vipersecythe]

 

Ami, this piece is incredible! You mentioned you went to Africa in a PM you sent me a while back, but this post really makes your whole experience come alive. I love, love, love how how you organized your memories by sense to beautifully evoke a sense of time and place. The rough, unedited feel only adds to the rawness of this piece.

 

 

A few of my favourite lines:

 

 

Five times a day comes the haunting, beautiful, and utterly foreign sound of the Muslim call to prayer from the loudspeakers mounted on the mosque across the street from the house. After a while, it becomes a sound of comfort, a steady reminder of the spiritual aspects of the world...

 

This passage is incredibly moving to me. I love how the "foreign" becomes "a sound of comfort" as time passes, and you get to know the place and people you have chosen to spend your time with.

 

Pungent and almost sickly sweet comes the smell of burning garbage. It is pervasive when the fires are lit.It flows freely, wrapping around the sweet blossoms of the trees and drowning out even their lovely scent. Exhaust and soot add a counterpoint of their own, but to me they provide a pleasant smell, a smell that reminds me of home and good times.

 

Beautiful. Simply beautiful.

 

The intense sweetness of the black Malian tea, served in three progressively sweeter stages. It is said to represent the stages of life; for me, it represents the friendships I made while drinking it.

 

I have never had Malian tea, but should I ever get the opportunity to try some I feel I know what to expect based on your vivid description.

 

Enormous baobab trees dwarfing the rest of the landscape, their boughs alternately laden with leaves or dangling with fruit. Goats and cattle wandering through the sandy streets and shrub-covered outskirts, standing up on two legs to reach the best bark of the thorn trees. Motorcycles weaving through the traffic caused by buses and vans overflowing with passengers or cargo, as well as donkeys pulling carts laden with wood for the woodcutters. The distinctive leaves of the mango tree. The bright colors dancing off the dark skin of the Africans; often the patterns and colors clash so brightly that I wonder how it still manages to look good on them. The swirling two-toned patterns of the tie-died plastic kettles and tubs, ever pervasive, each with a myriad of uses. Fruits and vegetables of every shape, size, and color lining the streets, the proprieters of the tiny shops waving at you to come take a look at their goods, their white smiles flashing in the sun.

 

Ahh..this whole paragraph is amazing. I've read it thrice now, trying to figure out why I like it so much. The descriptions are incredible it's true, but so is the subject matter. In many respects, the place you describe is foreign to me yet I feel connected to it. Why? Because you've forged connections between your world and theirs by highlighting the commonalites while respecting the differences.There is a wonderful sense of shared humanity in this whole piece that really speaks to me.

 

Thanks so much for sharing, Ami. I really loved reading this.