The first movement begins as the sun's fat fingers stretch
beyond the precipice of the hills. Mosques shatter the subtle hum of nocturnal
insect ensembles with insistent calls to prayer: reminders reverberate like
ping pong balls, reflecting across valleys and over wire-clad walls, to the
ears of restless sleepers. The morning curtains raise and reveal bleeding
oranges and pinks that signal the entrance of the sunbirds' delicate chirps.
The whir of trucks speeding down gravel, the bleats of moving herds of cattle,
the rapid footsteps of work-goers, and the honks of half-filled mutatus quickly
join the tune.
By midday, the key shifts and the cacophony crescendos into
a muddled din. Dogs bark sharply
at wandering goats. Boda bodas chastise swerving cars. Laughter trills; another
couple is reposed under the shifting shadows of my overgrown ficus. Tires fling
pebbles as cars announce their arrivals with echoing horns; metal peepholes
rattle open and close; sandals slap the pavement as escaries pull at squeaky
gate hinges. Radios atop vehicles or bicycles blare Lugandan tunes. Children 's
falsetto voices call "mzungu, how are you?" as pale men amble towards
Quality Shopping. Squawking turacos add their staccato jabbers to the dissonant
chord. My dog and cat scutter about, a duet of screeches and growls as they
wrestle; dry leaves crunch as the cat escapes under a bush. An ibis protests
the hoopla with angry cries as it abandons the scene in search of more peaceful
gardens. The tempo of this afternoon medley is fast, its fortissimo tune broken
only by momentary pauses as life frantically grasps for air.
By sundown, a nearby bar's bass serves as a metronome. Its
persistent rhythm keeps time for rounds of impending car alarms, off-key choir
rehearsals, and rambling 1 AM wedding speeches. The syncopated jingle of my
cat's bell signals a gecko hunt in progress. There is a harsh grating of nails
as she scales the door's mosquito screens. The wire sags under her cumbersome
weight. A generator purrs in the distance. Meanwhile my inverter struggles to
compensate for Umeme's failed promises; it groans as it fights to protect my
duty-free chocolate in the fridge. Strays report their locations; my dog lifts
his voice to join the canine glee club and my scolds banish him to the yard.
Crickets commence their enthusiastic all-night minuets.
Poco a poco the volume decrescendos. The celebratory
ululations from various churches decrease in frequency. The tinny voices of a
guard's radio prod him awake. My cat concludes her nightly stalks, her bell
silent at last. The relentless drip from my faulty bathroom sink patters in
time. The bugs continue their steady nocturnal strums, their high-pitched
buzzes forming a seemingly infinite fermata. Even in these wee hours, the drone
of life and movement persists. Pianissimo, a term Uganda does not know.
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