Secrets, Sights and Sounds

A few mornings ago, I was awakened to wailing screaming sounds. It was deeply disturbing to me. It didn’t sound human. There was nothing I could do but shut my window and turn on my fan to drawn out the sounds. Later, Angelina confirmed what I already knew.

It’s been raining for a few days. The rain pounds on the aluminum roofs. It’s deafening at times. I still get slightly alarmed because what is weather-as-usual here is not in Los Angeles. When I woke today, there were still black clouds in the sky. It rained on and off all night. One last downpour and it seemed to be over for awhile.

I took a shower and grabbed my keys. It was time for a morning walk. I walked near the sea where the fishermen bring in the catch of the day. It’s still early and no fish are available yet. While the conch shells are silenced this morning, they will be singing through the village later this afternoon when fishermen announce their catch. I stopped to talk to an elderly woman sitting on her porch. She was pleasant and friendly.

I have another secret. I’ve never felt a connection to the elderly; but it’s different here. The pace is slower and I have patience while they find the right words to express what they want to say. I have the time to answer their curious questions about me. I listen to them tell me wonderful stories about the village and their country. This is something I will take back with me.

Walking along the shore I see a huge black cauldron pot on a fire. The cauldron is big enough to fit a whole person into it. Steam is rising and there is an unidentifiable smell in the air. The cauldron is outside a brick building with large openings, but no glass or doors. It’s a structure that looks half finished. And then I saw it. The remains of a pig, its carcass hanging in two pieces. I don’t even want to know what’s in the pot. Now I understand. This slaughterhouse is only a block from my house. Angelina confirmed that they were slaughtering a pig that morning. I don’t know why I haven’t heard it before.

I haven’t eaten anything other than chicken and fish for twenty years and even that is eaten only on occasion. I’m lucky that I got an assignment where vegetarianism is accepted and understood and most of the time valued. I hear the cries of the past morning in my head. I am sad. But I understand it. I also smile because my view is so far from reality.

I finish my walk, saying hello to each passerby. Many stop to have a short conversation. One woman says, “I don’t have to ask if you are alright because you are walking”. I pass by children sitting on the porch playing a not-so-friendly and very serious game of dominoes, the national pastime. I hear the sounds of Reggae Music, mostly Duane Stephenson, coming from homes and establishments.

As I walk through the village I think about these small moments I enjoy, many of which I journal and some of which end up as a new post in my blog. When my boys were here, I didn’t notice many small moments. There was too much to do, too much to catch up on and just not enough time to focus on the little things. It is good to be with people and activities and life’s bustle. It’s also good to be alone, free to think to slow down and to catch a glimpse at the things I may have otherwise missed.