Praia so sabi

It is hard for me to believe that I have been back in Cape Verde for just over a week. It is already beginning to feel like I never left. It is wonderful to be immersed again in Kriolu and the simplicity of life here-despite the differences from my previous home on Fogo.
Praia, the capital, is home to almost half of the population of Cape Verde. It is very much a developing city, proudly displaying major changes from when I left in August. The streets are slowly being paved. There is a single traffic light that dangles precariously above a chaotic intersection. Buildings burst from the ground with the urgency and rapidity that corn grows in my former rural village. People rush from one place to the next, ignoring the obligatory greetings that I had grown to love.
There is trash and filth in the street, unfinished buildings and street children around every corner, but also unexpected beauty. Gardens of cacti peek out over fences and fountains of azaleas pour over balconies breathing life into the street in intervals of purple and pink. Though not always visible, the ocean is always just around the corner. On a clear day, the sky and the ocean dance together in a celebration of blue. Traffic noises melt away at the sight of the turning sky, the blue of the ocean begging the sky not to leave as it changes to its fiery evening robes.
Though I have been to Praia many times, the city is still a mystery to me. I have spent each day taking different routes, losing myself and trying to find my way back home. I take the bus to and from work. I am overwhelmed by the amount of options and have begun to search for the cheapest grocery stores and most reliable market ladies. There are many more foreigners here, so my presence does not command as much attention on the street. It does, however, make me more of a target. I am very aware of my surroundings and am hesitant to step out.
My apartment is wonderful. There are bookshelves that I will never fill, an adorable green couch that is deceptively uncomfortable and a tiny kitchen that is perfect for one. An unbelievably old clothes washing machine is nestled in the corner of the bathroom and I lean out the bedroom window to dry my clothes on a line, five stories from the ground. The most beautiful thing is the wooden staircase that greets you as you enter and brings you up over the sala de estar to the kitchen. The bookshelves and table are wood. The bedstead and chairs are wood. Even the bathroom door is wood. I may not have trees here to hug, but there is comfort in the polished grain of this desk.