At 6:49pm last night, I made sure to note the time. The sun had just set, so even though it wasn’t daylight anymore, there was still a lingering radiant blue glow to the sky. Think Prussian Blue, for all you oil painters and Lee Akamichi alumni. Six months ago, it would have already been dark by 6:30pm—I know this because that, too, was recorded. When you’re as close to the equator at I am, these details are ever-so minute, but they are ever-so documented. In the world of equatorial living, where weather, daylight, schedules, and thus life is very constant, I find myself looking to the little things to differentiate this time of year from others.
But in that short amount of time it took to process that runaway train of thought, about eight minutes later, that bright Prussian blue glow was gone. 7:00 is too early to be dark in the summertime, you know? But not to worry, it was still hot out, as if someone from above put a lid over us to keep the afternoon’s residual steam inside this big pot that is Dar es Salaam. Night hotness (and yes, I just made that term up)—it’s something that six years of East Coast living, two years of Guangzhou living, and six months of Dar living still has not acclimated me to. My year-round chilly-night California desert blood says, wait, I should throw on a hoodie! It gets me. Every. Single. Time.
Maybe, I thought last night, like the other night after a day-long rain storm (the first full day of rain since we arrived), we’ll get a swarm of locust-like creatures that hit our windows again. That was interesting. These insects, hitting so constantly and with such vigor that at first, to one unaccustomed to swarms of flying insects, I thought for sure it was raining again outside. A few managed to sneak into the house while I was doing dishes, meaning I promptly stopped all chores to arm myself with a curled up issue of last month’s Traveller as defense. Sorry, Conde Nast! (update 12/20: I found out recently these were not locusts, but termites! Termites, the size of my pinky!! GROSS!)
This day-long, night-long perma-heat is something I’m still getting used to. Over here, we’re now into the winter months of November, December, January…even though people are calling this time of year summer, down here. Christmas in summer is bizarre, though. We have nowhere near the majestic and wintery snowfall that friends on the East Coast are experiencing right now, nor is it anything close the to the frigid cold spell that supposedly icing over Bay Area mornings. As most friends are sharing photos bundled up under chunky-knit pom-pom beanies and donning their LL Bean duck boots and draping magnificent faux furs over woolen sweaters, I just received my Black Friday purchase of beach dresses and tank tops. Thanksgiving dinner was eaten al fresco. Christmas decor around town has decidedly fewer snowflakes, less fake snow, and Santas are dressed far more casually—because in weather like this, who’d willing to wear that much fake-velvet clothing? At the Yacht Club, the rooftop is decorated with a sled pulled by zebra. Ha! Flying zebra! That’s one thing I can get down with during a summertime Christmas.
The dichotomy between my situation here, and the images that I’m being sent from home, serve as a reminder as to how big this world is. At this exact moment, while it’s blaringly sunny, hot and dusty outside, someone else (you, maybe?) is living the same moment, in a dark, cold and snowy city. It reminds me of how many different people are living their completely different lives, and how many more little nooks and crannies of the world I’ve got left to explore. Happy Holidays, to ALL indeed.
