Living near the equator is begging for insomnia.There is no sinking into cool, satin sheets at night and letting the darkness roll over you. Not for me. Here, each night, it’s a mental battle. It’s like swimming in warm velvet—choking, heavy, like being covered with a heated blanket you never asked for.
I close my eyes, praying for sweet oblivion, trying to make my mind blank. Trying to think only of cold things: water, snow, ice. I beg my body to ignore the heat, to escape away from that warm, velvet world and fall into delicious slumber.
Buzzing. The buzzing is what gets me next. The purr of the cat by my head, the hum of the fans to keep the bugs away, the plaintive song of the mosquito, the cry of the call to prayer come far too early. The crickets. The night jars. The breath of the person next to me. The howling of packs of stray dogs on the dust-covered streets.
There is never silence, not in that way.
I breathe—listen to the buzz. I feel my skin against the damp sheets. Sweat is like its own skin every night here. I lift the blanket to my chin both to keep stray mosquitoes away and out of habit. The memory of snowy winters from a lifetime ago.
My eyelids flutter, desperate to lie still. I think it’s endless, this waiting. Time and time again, I roll and turn, hoping that some small change will make it all better. In one turn, I might suddenly sink into the sheets, forget about the heat, and feel the merciful weight of slumber on my eyes at long last.
Sometimes, the tears come, and my muscles tense, fingernails digging into palms. The sounds are everywhere; the heat has me in its clasp. I am so angry, bitterly angry. Life beats and wails, a constant rhythm of sorts, that knock you out of place.
But sleep is to be our resting place, our home of cooled silence where we can put it all away for a time. Sleep doesn’t want me here. Is Malawi kicking me away, sending me from its center with the choking grasp of its heat? Angry tears flow and muscles clench. For hours.
Until the tightness melts away like butter, listening to that heat. Tears dry and disappear, evaporated into the warm air. Fists release and let go.
Time is what it takes. Every night it happens, even though I forget. Eventually, the buzzing mixes together and matches the beat of my heart. It’s a song of life. An orchestra of the day to day, the mundane, the left behind things.
The heat suddenly feels like an embrace—safety, peace. There is no danger here from life’s wailing and beating.
Out of all the places in the world I could be, I am here. Safe, warm, with a buzzing, beating heart.
