Evening

As the sun was setting, the sky began to clear. The formerly solid sheet of grey was swept into small white puffs whose indistinct borders trailed into the pale blue sky. Night fell, and the stars began to sparkle in the blackness.

I stepped onto my back veranda and switched off my flashlight. The orange glow from my neighbors’ kerosene lamp danced off the cement walls of their house. The chirping crickets mingled with the solemn sound of the azan. Together they formed a chorus that almost drowned out the distant hum of the generator across the street, the only source of electricity for miles.

Slipping off my flip-flops, I walked carefully into my gravel-covered backyard. The stones were cold, but mostly dry under my bare feet. I lay down, settling my weight so that no sharp rocks would dig into my back. I was hidden by the dark and the zinc slabs that fenced in my backyard. Invisible to the world, I listened to the chattering of children next door, the slightly crackled voice coming from a radio, and the crunching footsteps of someone passing by my house.

My eyes followed the stars, tracing Orion’s belt and the big dipper. Even in rural Ohio, I had never seen such a multitude of stars, so I felt certain new constellations must be waiting to be discovered. I formed the pictures in my mind. A giraffe stretched its neck up to the leaves of a tall tree. A child waved her legs and arms out to make a snow angel.

“Manungima?” A passing voice called. It was a question asked to the dark to see if I was still awake. It was a greeting that did not really demand a response. Nevertheless, it broke the spell; it cut through the sensation of being alone and invisible under a vast starlit sky. I got up and went inside.