A.B. Normal

What is it about the familiar?

Is it the fact that it reminds us of that which is normal or everyday, common and ordinary?

What had become familiar here in Sudan has changed.

Sudan has routines based upon the heat of the day, especially in areas that have fluctuating electricity and water. Work in offices stop when generators are not available or are unafordable.

By the end of my third month, my daily schedule had become pretty routine.

Sleeping with doors and windows open to take advantage of the breeze, you awake when the air starts to stir again, right around dawn.

The sun rises over my back wall, to the left of the front door. At first, she peaks through very tall leaf and palm trees, providing a muted picture of various shades of green that change quickly as she rises slowly in the sky.

The heat is not yet apparent and the breeze feels cool. Energy is abounding.

Dogs begin barking and moving about. Birds fly overhead moving from their nighttime perches.

The small birds in the yard, like finches, are chirping away. Falcons or hawks are high in the sky, wings outstretched as they surf the air currents looking below for breakfast. The flies become annoying.

Rascal is quiet, but starts to stretch legs and neck. Her tail begins to wag and she flops over on her back for her morning belly rub. Then she is up chasing the empty water bottles as if they are balls.

I hear Sadik and Babekah , brothers, open the doors of the corner store, metal slamming against metal.

Two other neighbors start their morning coffee rituals and the smell drifts along with the breeze.
School starts as children catch their buses or walk through the soccer field, so the morning brings laughter and giggles. I do not open the front gate or Rascal will run barking and growling at each of them and disturb whoever might still be sleeping.

Silence within the house had also become normal. No conversations. No English.

Until a couple of days ago, when normal changed.

I have discovered NPR in Sudan. Lake Wobegon in Sudan. Click and Clack the Tappit Brothers. Wait.. Wait.. Don't Tell Me. Terry Gross and Fresh Air from Philadelphia. Bill Moyers Journal on PBS.

No way, you say.

Way.

Technology has given me podcasts and they have given me NPR and PBS.

Now, I hear voices from Minnesota, Boston, Chicago. My family from Lake Wobegon is meeting those from Harvard Square. Terry Gross is eatting steak in Chicago.

English, but not just any English. American English. Here in my house in Sudan.

And, I am laughing outloud. No one else around.

Rascal hides under the bed.