This is just a draft and its unedited…inspired by a poem from E.L.F, I read some time ago:
The Language of Silence –
There's a silence that speaks in the deeply dark eye;
'Tis a soul-breathing eloquence lent from on high,
To picture those feelings, to language forbid,
As it droopingly bends 'neath the shadowy lid,
There's a silence that speaks in the mute falling tear;
Ah! It breathes deeper anguish, more sorrow sincere,
Than the voice of affliction, in love's deepest wail,
Did ever pour forth, the soft heart to assail,
There's a silence that speaks in the deep heart-felt sigh;
Ah! It echoes a mute half concealed agony;
And the darkening shadows that flit o'er the brow,
Betoken the sunset of happiness now.
There's a silence that speaks in the varying smile:
Who hath not felt the endearment, the wile,
That those vivid circles that o'er the lip play,
With the light flash of lightning, our feelings portray,
There's a silence that speaks in the low hectic tinge,
And the brilliancy sparkling beneath the dark fringe;
And the throbs of heard to beat in that fast fading form,
Tell a far sadder tale than the lip could have borne.
The Language of Which the Heart Speaks
August, 2000
The people here rejoice and sing about the simplest things in life. They celebrate how the rain falls, they dance to thank god for the food that keeps them strong, they rain blessings on their children, who will need to survive them, when age and time make their claim on their beaten old bones, they are grateful towards the meager bounty that Mother Nature had bestowed on their dry barren lands. They know how to not take things for granted, and they accept that life, while harsh, can also turn out to be good. The men walk about with slippers made of crude rubber or car tyres and mostly bare-chested, their women walked around with their head piled high with buckets full of laundry, their children clinging to their sides, munching on some kind of brown roots, colorful beads carefully stringed together dangled from their necks and wrists, their handcrafted jewelry holds a strong contrast to the thin fabrics they wear on their backs and wrapped around their waists. He used to think that the exquisiteness of those jewelries was a mockery to the reality of their poverty. But he has learned enough to know now that they are markers of their identity and heritage. They consider it an honor to be able to wear them.
He sits atop the slope and feels the hot wind traveling across the village. He watched the emaciated cows at the bottom grazed on whatever tiny patches of grass they come across, and amused himself by watching the children frolic about, naked as their day of birth on the dusty ground. Their mothers working the grains, infront of their homes with rusty knives and the occasional aluminum pots they managed to purchase from the mobile weekend markets. The younger and more able men of the village hang around the borders of their land with AK-17s, bought from the black traders, hanging on their shoulders, keeping a watchful eye towards the horizon of flatland miles away, ready to sound the alarm should any military trucks are spotted. They can never be sure who are really on the trucks. In the heart of this thriving land of nature, those unaccustomed can only see heathen pandemonium ready to abrupt.
He doesn't see it that way. Life is profoundly simple here. He wonders how long he will stay this time, before the restlessness pounces upon him again, before he feels the need to rush elsewhere to try to be a savior for another cause, which has nothing to do with his life and would most likely not make a dent should he choose to live any differently. He knows the poverty, the hunger and the corruption will never cease, and they were only changing enough to maintain hope to motivate themselves. The outlook is grim whichever way, and everytime when he was faced with the results of the work of similar people like him, he feels the idealist dies a little more inside of him. But the simple humdrum of these village people make a difference to him. He enjoys their simplicity. They don't ask for more but they don't ask for less either. Their contentment makes him contented. It makes him stop questioning himself on why is he doing all this when he has a family back home waiting for him.
If he dares to be honest, he might tell those who dared ask, that he chose this not because he has a noble bone in him, or, that he has compassion for the less fortunate, but because it allows him to escape from the mistakes that he is unable to make right. Out here, he is able to input some meaning into his existence. He can make peace with himself and forget about the judgments waiting for him at home. He admires the men in his team. They are real and are pure in their intent. They are the ones with true passion for this kind of work. They live and breathe for it, and at the end of everything, they are able to feel truly accomplished. For him, he thinks it is never going to be enough, and that he needs to do more. He needs to continue until he can no longer feel the guilt weighing down his soul, until the shadows stop graying his heart.
His group has another month before reinforcements arrive, and then, he is allowed to leave. But he isn't sure if he wants too. He is thinking of accepting the offer from Peace Corps. After all, he hasn't got much to return to. He runs his hand across the ground he is sitting on and feels the ancient soil sift through his fingers. He breathes in the air around him and smells the goodness of heavy earthiness in it. Indeed, he does love this place. There is a rhythm to life here, and albeit the possible dangers lurking in the corners, the surety of the rhythm soothes him. The sun rises and sets exactly at five – forty five exactly, fires are raised and food cooking by six, and he would watch the red of the sky bleed away to be replace by dark purple. Then he would sit with his team after the day's hard work, around the warm bonfire and sip dark bitter tea, and they will talk about the drama of the day as they consume raw slice bananas with rice, and sometimes, meat cooked with ghee served with a huge portion of mufo.
There are also other reasons why he had come to love this land with its dreaded dark shores. He smells the bloodshed spilled on it from all her wars, but he also senses the hope of her people. He knows her history, understood the causes of her fall and feels pain for her lost glory, and he thinks, maybe Africa would understand why he wants to stay.
~ :: ~
April, 2004 – Somalia: Mogadishu
Fay grumbles about the ground he lands on when he exits from the jeep, and moans about the state of his leather boots as he threw a hapless glare at his partner. She shrugs her shoulders in an off handed manner, and the looks she gives with her molten amber eyes, suggests that he better get used to the conditions here. He doesn't need any reminding, he knows very well what they will be doing here. Still, he was not prepared for the arid humidity that assaulted him. He feels the smote of the sun on his skin, and he realized despairingly that the sunblock lotions he had brought along are going to be pretty useless. He sniffs at the odor of perspiration from the people around him, feeling suffocated from the musty sourness of their scent and squirms to get the stickiness of his shirt, wet from all the sweat pouring out of his pores, off his back.
He was not enthusiastic about this from the start, and he isn't sure if he will last through his stint now that he is here in person. He sighed in resignation. He knows Yuuko well enough to know that she will never let him off the hook for this one. He's already misses the beautiful coastline of Somaliland, where they had first landed and stayed at for their first week. He marvels in trepidation and disbelief at how different the country is from just across the opposite border.
"Get moving." Yuuko said as she bumps hard into him, deliberately, with her duffel bag.
"Could you just stop behaving like a Mary-Sue for a day?" he retorts in jest as he watch her walk ahead, flipping him off in respond.
He follows her past the entrance of the village, and immediately feels the villagers' eyes focusing on them. Pupils dark and unfathomable, it makes him even more tense and nervous than he should be. Yuuko doesn't need to elaborate why they are weary of newcomers around their area. They are well briefed on the political situation before they are posted here. Conflicts between the country's rival factions trying to bring about an Islamist ruling have placed peacekeepers in dangerous situations, and unlike Somaliland and Punterland, Mogadishu still maintains a critical and unstable political environment. Terrorism, ethnic and clan fighting occur on a daily basis, and while their presence here brings much needed help, it also brings the dread of bloodshed to the villagers. They may be located at the outskirts of the capital, but they are fools if they lulled themselves into thinking that they are safe where they are. Already, he had seen plenty of military might displayed along the way and skirmishes that nearly broke into gunfights. Needless to say, the journey here was fraught with tension and fear. They were medical stuff, not soldiers. They have no inkling of how it feels like to kill another human being, even if it is to ensure their own survival.
After a fifteen minute walk into the heart of the village, Yuuko stopped infront of a decrepit brick house with sheets of rusting zinc as its roofing. Fay could see past the front door to the middle of the courtyard from where he is standing at the gate. He didn't think the layout of the house can provide much security should guerilla soldiers with trigger happy fingers comes hunting for victims. He also thinks that the man, who opted to stay here and front the show, might very possibly be a loony.
"Here's HQ." she announced without much fanfare before striding into the house uninvited.
Fay follows with unsure footing and seriously in doubt of the efficiency of the place which Yuuko calls, the local hospital. He watched Yuuko dumps her bag on the dusty floor and plunks herself down on a rickety looking bench before bellowing for someone called Kurogane, presumably the person who was supposed to meet them at their landing place.
"Kurogane!" she called out again voice laced with impatience, as she brushed at the strands of dark moist hair plastered uncomfortably at the side of her neck.
Further back, from an extension of the hut in a similarly decrepit manner, he heard a muffled response, a loud clanging sound and hurried footsteps, before a tall guy with short, spiky jet black hair and dark crimson eyes, dressed in a worn white tee-shirt, fraying at the edges, and dark brown cargo pants appears. He is holding a dead chicken, still dripping blood from the neck, in his right hand and a beaming smile on his face.
Fay immediately thrashes all thoughts of the guy being a loony, because in all seriousness and despite this being the most inappropriate moment and place to have such thoughts, he might be the hottest guy Fay had ever met.
"Babe! You got here in one piece!" he cried out voice deep and just a slight raspy, as he leaves the chicken anyhow on a counter by the wall, and strides towards Yuuko within three steps before bending down to envelop her in a bear's hug.
Yuuko grinned and returned the embrace just as heartily, a wistful smile on her face. Fay observed their little exchange and noticed that there is a private moment between them. He has never seen her so open with anyone before, not even himself. He wonders if they had some sort of a history, and if there are going to be some awkward moments ahead. He doesn't really fancy the idea of being caught in between ex-lovers trying to deal with the aftermath of a break-up. Though he supposed that would not be possible since Yuuko was back at home for more than six months. Fay thinks that should be enough time to deal with a break-up. Strangely, he does not remember Yuuko ever mentioning about a boyfriend. There was a period when they first met and he suspects that she was a lesbian after he witnessed a drunken kiss exchanged between her and Samantha, another housemate. She had beaten the idea out of his head one week after the incident when he stumbled upon her, naked on the couch with a gorgeous stranger, in their shared apartment. Said male gorgeous stranger had such a rock hard body, that he had Fay salivating and lusting for days after.
Yuuko pulled away slightly and gave Kurogane a hard jab with her elbow right in his ribs, smirking as he grimaced and grunted in pain.
"That's for not being on time to pick me up!" Yuuko drawled out darkly.
Sometimes, the way Yuuko is makes Fay thinks that she would make a great dyke, if she were ever to bat for her own team. She is always just a tad too butch compared to the rest of the female species, but that, he guesses, is also what makes Yuuko such a cool person to hang out with. What with her weird sense of humor and in-your-face attitude.
"Yuuko Tyrrell! When will you learn to respect your brother! I was hard at work making dinner for you!" Kurogane protested against the rough man-handling he received from his sister.
"Dinner can wait! What if our vehicle was hijacked half-way? There's no help around for more than a hundred miles!"
"I'm sure with your might those midgets have nothing against you." He replied, though Fay can't tell from his tone if he was horsing around or not.
"This is nowhere near funny." Yuuko deadpanned.
Fay only half listened to their bickering. He had never heard Yuuko speak about her family at all, and he is surprised to learn that her sibling is also working for Peace Corps. He wonders if he should be just a little mad at Yuuko for withholding this kind of information from him, then again, he reminded himself that nobody ever says everything.
"And you must be Fay Flowright!" Kurogane said, perhaps a little too loudly, jarring Fay out of his musing with the volume of his voice, and the glint he caught in crimson eyes, hinted that that may have been done on purpose. It's kind of comforting to know that Kurogane shares the same level of subtlety as Yuuko, which it to say…none at all.
"Yeah, hi! Nice meeting you." Fay replied with a lop-sided smile as he reached out with his right hand, taking care to avoid the one that was holding the dead chicken earlier, for a handshake.
A person's handshake tells a lot about themselves, and Fay has a hobby of studying them. He is immediately intrigued with Kurogane's. He noted how Kurogane kept his arm close to his body. That is a sign of a person who isn't willing take risks, and yet, chose to work in a country perpetually at war everyday of the year. His grip was warm and firm but his eyes were detached while looking at him. His hand was dry and his fingers cradled Fay's hand fully, confident and strong, but within milliseconds the grip softens before the hand falls away. It was as if Kurogane's initial show of strength was only a mask, which he doesn't know for how long he has to keep on, before he decides if the person he's meeting, is safe enough to see the real him.
Fay lets his hand fall back beside him, and they stood around wondering what to say next when Yuuko walked to the counter, picked up the dead fowl and turned to them with a devious smile.
"So, what about dinner?" she chirps. As always, Fay knows that is a tone that never bodes well for him.
~ :: ~
Aziza, whom Kurogane has appointed as their cook and cleaning women, is warm and bubbly, and her ebony skin shimmers and glow under the glare of the sun as her hand gesticulates wildly about as she speaks. She babbles on and on, in heavily accented English, about life in this god forsaken place, and how happy she is to see them as she skins the chicken efficiently. She is doing a much better job than what Fay could have done. He is guessing that she took pity on the way Yuuko had bullied him into the job, and that he was struggling with the dead bird just now, either that, or she simply doesn't like the idea of her dinner being fooled around with.
She tells him and Yuuko how happy she is to know that there are others who still give their sorry state of affairs a time of their day, or, lives for that matter to make sure that they can have a better life. Sometimes, she gets a too excited and switches back to her mother tongue. Fay is not that well versed in Somali, but he reckons he understands enough to catch the gist of what Aziza is saying, so he nods politely at everything she says. Kurogane and Yuuko, however, are fluent in the language and every once in a while, they crack up some jokes in a dialect which he isn't familiar with, and watch Aziza double over in laughter, tears in her eyes, and dead chicken parts jostled all over the chopping board. He watches them with a soft smile as he busies himself slicing up the sweet potatoes and tending to the rice and beans cooking over the fire.
As the sky darkens, and day progresses into night, the other members of the group starting flowing through the front door, back from a hard day's work of tending to ailing villagers, and those caught in the crossfire between fraction soldiers while out in the city. He was introduced to all of them one by one, and he notices that Yuuko already knows them all. It strikes him then that Yuuko had been here before. He looks across the table and tilt his head in inquiry. Yuuko answers him with a pleading look, and he knows her well enough to understand that's her 'I'm sorry but can we talk about this later?' look. He gives her a sideway nod in understanding, and goes back to getting acquainted with the other guys.
