Kipilefti

Sitting on the goat-skin stool in my kitchen, watching the flame from the kerosene I just poured on the coal in the jiko. The stale scent of my body (smell, odor, aroma, says my crossword-brain). The hesitant knocking of the rain on the roof. The screech of a crow’s talons as it comes in to land. I stand and flip the light switch, idly wondering if the power has returned, and am pleasantly surprised when the kitchen grows brighter.

I taught my first class today. It wasn’t good and it wasn’t bad. I think it will be okay. Afterwards I went home (not much to do in a computer lab, without electricity), sat in bed, and read a book. Now that the power’s back I could walk over to Mama Jully’s and watch the inauguration, but my plan for the evening had not included that: dinner is on the stove, my book is almost finished, and now that the power’s back I have the music that I’ve been sorely missing all day. If I go watch it I’ll just wind up trying not to cry in front of her television, thinking about home, looking at the familiar buildings and the winter weather and wondering if my parents are in the crowd. Better to stay here and not think about it.