This is one of those things that I wrote back in the summer (February 20) with the thought of putting it up back then, but never got around to typing it. Just a silly little writing sample type thing that kept me busy one afternoon.
This morning I walked out my front door with the low sun to my back to go for a hike. I had no real destination, but I packed lunch, water, and my camera and set off to see where the day would take me. I followed my long shadow down into the valley and to the river than runs through it. There I rested under the shade of a low, drooping willow tree, contentedly listening to the gentle babble of the running water until the herd boys started to bring their cattle down to drink and the nearby river crossing became busy with the foot traffic of inter-village visitors. I moved on, taking off my shoes to carefully ford the river before continuing up the mountainside on the opposite bank.
Halfway up, I turned around to see if the jagged peaks that I had left behind were being overtaken by dark gray clouds who wished to threaten me with an afternoon storm and prematurely end my walk. There was nothing in the southern sky but blue and the ghost of a crescent moon. I surveyed the hillside around me. Not a soul. I sat down to bask in the morning sun and enjoy the undisturbed environs. Green surrounded me. The deep emerald slopes were given their color by small tufts of grass and ankle height shrubbery. The occasional intense yellows or soft whites of flowers in bloom punctuated this vast sheet of jade. Looking down below, the valley floor was a mélange of freshly sewn fields that followed the river on its never ending, meandering journey between the towering cliff faces. Shifting my gaze across the river and further up, there was the mirror image of my rolling, monochrome emerald ridges that gradually gave way to rocky outcrops and the cliff strewn peaks of the opposing mountains.
And we – the lush greenery, the crystal clear river, the empty fields, the imposing cliffs, the ever present mountains, and myself – all sat silently under the uninterrupted blue canopy and smiling crescent moon. But beauty can be found in one form or another almost anywhere on this planet. Instead, the moment was most unique for what it lacked. Not only was there not a sign of people on my hillside, there was nobody in sight in the entirety of the valley. Not a soul in the surrounding mountains, nor a plane in the sky. My giant room – from the valley floor underneath, to the green walls on all sides, to the vast blue ceiling above – was completely empty except for me. The only hints of human existence were the barren fields skirting the river below and a few thatch roofs peaking over a ridge line far in the distance. Not a single man made noise to disturb the sweet mountain air. Only the distant rush of water over rock, birds chirping in the early morning sun, and the occasional grasshopper buzzing past my ear, skipping from one leafy refuge to the next. No other sound except for silence.
This is why I moved to Africa. Nowhere else on this planet could offer an opportunity like this. Because this time and place – this very moment – was the definition of Peace and Quiet. Then, I farted.
I knocked this thing out in about 20 minutes while taking a break and eating lunch during a hike last summer. I don’t know why, but even two months later, it still makes me laugh. Almost all of it is true except for the farting part. I also found out later that pretty much everybody in my village knew exactly where I was the whole time and watching the crazy white man climb two mountains was the entertainment for the day. It is actually pretty hard to find somewhere private here. Even when you walk 7 hours into nowhere, you will invariably run into some herd boys. The only real privacy I have been able to find here is hiding down in those trees by the river.
