a passing storm

It is February and I’m sitting in a tanktop underneath brilliant purple and red flowers looking out at the last, lonely island of the archipelago of Cabo Verde. There is an avenue of orange tiled rooftops leading out to the seas and I am reminded of a photo from my “Peace Corps Welcome Book.” Despite the strong recollection, it could have been from any island, for on every island, eventually, all houses lead to the sea. I remember arriving here and finding it all so foreign, that picture having seemed so exotic. Now the picture seems so foreign. A pale attempt to capture a view, overlooking the people whose histories and lives reside beneath those orange roofs.
When I got here, I was an outsider. Now, I am an inside outsider. As I write, I am sitting at one of the “premier” tourist restaurants. It is strange to see the city through the eyes of a foreigner again. When I arrived here, everything I saw I took for surface value, like the line of orange rooftops. I did not see below or inside. Now, I am beginning to see both. It is interesting to encounter groups of tourists and hear their take on Cape Verde. It is like arriving new, all over again. To them, the students are just beautiful young people in blue and white striped shirts. The women in the Mercado are just a line of loud overbearing merchants biding for their purchases. They do not see the abusive parents of the beautiful young people, the hours spent walking to and from school or the hours spent carrying water or working in the house or fields before or after school. They do not see the women and men at home tending to their rows upon rows vegetables, struggling to pay for the water that is so important during the months and months of draught. If it were to rain, they would certainly complain about the intrusion upon their brief stay, ignorant to the beauty of its rarity and necessity. To think that I too once felt that way; my adorable and innocent students, the overbearing personality of the Mercado, the rain, such an inconvenience…
It rained the other day. There had been mist and sprinkles, but last week it rained, really rained. The night was alive with thunder and lightening out at sea. I sat outside in wonder at the sight of the streaks of light slicing through the dark that separates the sky from the sea. It was like being lost at sea, but in a boat firmly grounded with a multitude of concrete block houses with orange roof tops. Absolutely beautiful.