Kipilefti

I had a bath yesterday, so today I’m wearing my hair down, enjoying its cleanness while it lasts. A strong wind blows it around my face as I walk into town. There’s a storm coming in from over the mountains: I can tell by the wind, and the chill, and by the screen of grey obscuring the farthest peaks. The mountains look flat and matte in the sunlight, as though they were painted on to a chalkboard.

One of the two implements necessary to make coconut milk is a sort of aluminum sieve, maybe eight inches in diameter. Mine’s hanging on the window frame, and when the wind comes up it clangs dully against the window frame. The sound reminds me of the bells they put on buoys, distant and warning. I love to hear it, because it means there’s wind, and rain will probably follow.

Bret’s coming to visit for the weekend, biking down from Bulongwa. I hope he makes it in before the storm hits. Biking in this wind on those roads wouldn’t be fun, but doing it in the rain would be nearly impossible. Whenever he gets here we’re going to make hummus and guacamole and chapati, and then maybe pop some popcorn and watch a movie. Today was a hard day–I slept terribly last night, bugs in my ears keeping me up (I thought that in the mountains there wouldn’t be any mosquitoes, but I’ve seen a couple!)–but spending a few hours with music and a book in bed makes most things better.