quiet

Accra is a city of sound

Singing, always beautiful. Lively conversations. Shouting, always good natured. Calls to prayer carry the wind. Taxis beep, into forever. Music wins.

Tropical, so the birds have their say. They fill the void both early in the morning and at dusk, reminding us it’s time to get moving. And time to settle down. Even bats proclaim, I am here.

Even at 3am

Things are still, until one dog picks up a scent, wakes from slumber, decides it’s time for the alarm to sound. One starts, a chorus follows, a cacophony of dogsong, to light up the neighborhood and wake up the kids.

Plus, the toads. (what must be) Hundreds of toads, serenading one another a rolling, rhythmic rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr rrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, wrapping, rapping, and overlapping.

.

And so.

Today was a special day, bookended with that rare commodity.

The morning sun brilliant. It’s not hot, not yet. Elephant and I wait. We’re early, and our friend is late. So that gives us gifts. Of time, of together.

Of silence.

I resist the urge to start my day. Laptop stays in bag and phone stays in pocket. It’s just me, and him, and quiet.

Elephant observes, eyes dancing and lively. He’s eternally curious about the world. He stalks an ant, ponders its route, marvels at its steady pace. I marvel at his.

It’s a breath, a moment, together, before the day, before the million things that will happen.

And so then, of course, a million things happen. You can imagine.

After the million things

I return home. It’s dusk. Football complete. A sweaty mess. The rest of the family off to drum. The door closes gently with a thud behind me, I step into the dark room, and hear

nothing