Easter/Passover/Humidity Meter

It's Easter Sunday. April's what everyone has been saying is the hottest month. It's 9AM here--the morning, the coolest part of the day--and I'm already drenched in sweat. I was going to go to church this morning--really! But, well, there's no way I'm going to sit under that jam-packed, thatched-roof awning over the pew (which itself is nothing put chopped-down logs we sit on), beads of sweat dripping from me, the service conducted in Moore--a degree away from jibberish to me.

I'm just going to lay in my hammock, move as little as possible, and dream of Easter brunch. Ice cold mimosas. Solid (unmelted!) chocolate. Maybe if I close my eyes and really try, I can convince myself I'm eating ice-cream-topped belgian waffles and sipping on iced coffee.

I'm trying to imagine where I was a year ago. Last Easter/ I had literally just recieved my assignment to Burkina Faso. I was pouring over the information in the packet, making lists of what I'd need. All optimism, excitement, adventure.

Does it seem like that long ago? Well, yes. It does. I've been here a while now. It's surprising to me, if I think about it, how "everyday" everything I do here has become. I've all but forgotten the hum of wheels on pavement, the crunch of snow under boots. Heck, I can't remember the last time I wore shoes. This is perpetual flip-flop weather. I'm impressed how much time has passed. How far from here I was last year. I dont' feel older, really. Only farther.

I'll spend even another Easter here. A year from now, I suppose I'll think back on what I was doing today. I'll wonder where the time went.

Easter here isn't terribly unlike it is in America. The Christians dress up, go to mass. Eat and drink. No chocolate. "Peeps" are an absurd notion. The only rabbits you might see will be in the sauce you eat at dinner. Though, likely, the animal slaughtered will be larger. A goat, pig, or sheep. People at church will be baptised. Villagers will visit each others' homes and wish each other well. Market will bustle. My dog wil sit, ass usual, right in front of my screen door, panting. Too lazy and hot to move a muscle and let me pass in and out of the house. He might stand up to eat something. The screen door is reflective: My actions mirror his.

The day after a holiday is usually a holiday, too. So I'll be back in the classroom Tuesday. I'm just praying my students will be alert enough to form sentences. The brain--as if chemically induced--isn't capable of much more than staring at walls in this weather. At home, April is a forgettable month--that middle-ground between Spring and Summer. Here, it's memorable only for its heat. Granted I don't melt, I'll see you in July!