Nightime

I have a pretty predictable routine leading into the nighttime hours. The moment I come through the garage door, shoes come off, pocketbook goes on the kitchen island, book bag sits in the chair, cats get fed, work clothes off and grunges come on. Then TV on. Usually, one of the Law & Order shows until Countdown comes on. Maybe I'll eat, maybe not. Playing with the cats is a given, but only if they permit it.

The night sounds in my neighborhood are honking horns, or squealing brakes as drivers take the corner too quickly. In the summer, kids playing street hockey, basketball, bikes, swimming and that infernal ice-cream truck. And lawnmowers, leaf blowers, edgers. Lots of noise. Winter has snow blowers.

It is near impossible to hear nature in the suburbs.

However, in Africa it was similar but still different.

I had my routine. Come through the hotel room door, kick off my shoes, and take a shower. The heat and dust from the day disappeared first. A special comment, in Juba the shower was a trickle and sometimes the water disappeared before the soap was all off. I learned to shower quickly. Then I'd change into grunges.

In Kampala, I would watch BBC news, CNN or Al Jezeera. They even had the Disney Channel and Friends. In Juba, the TV did not work. So it was quiet. I read a lot. Local newspapers, the latest John Grisham novel, my African guide book. In Kampala, the Internet connection was in the room, wireless. In Juba, a computer room was available, pay as you go. I usually used it in the morning when I was dressed appropriately in skirt and shirt.

I went to bed early. The heat and dust of Juba was exhausting, no matter how exhilarating the day had been.

In Kampala there are two routines performed each night by the staff. The first would be the turning down of the bed and plumping of the pillows. Then two gentlemen staffers would appear and get the windows ready for the evening. They would spray around the inside of the windows to protect against mosquitoes and then close the curtains.

In Juba, I lowered the mosquito netting, turned down my own covers, set the alarm and then listened. It was never really dark in my room, there was a perimeter light right outside my bedroom window.

The first couple of nights I thought there were children playing outside my window in the field next door. I worried, the noises sounded frantic. My imagination was in overdrive. I learned the noises were made by goats and sheep. I heard birds and crickets. Lots of people moving around in the courtyard, TV playing long into the night.

But there were also smells. I kept smelling things burn. The first night I was worried something in the room was on fire. Then I worried about it being outside the window or door. It was not until the third night that I realized that it was the nightly burning of trash. Everyone burns trash at night. In the mornings, the remains are swept up in the courtyard along with the nightly layer of dust. You see remnants on every road, every yard. And they burn everything together. Plastic bottles and aluminum cans. That definitely cannot be good.

I thought I would be able to see the stars. But in Kampala, there were the lights of the city. In Juba, mosquitoes.

Maybe I will get to see them in Khartoum.