Mornings in Lima

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I awaken to the sound of THE praise song floating up from the first floor. I've never met the voice, but it's rather off-key. I wish I could actually understand the lyrics since the song will remain in my head the rest of the day. And since I will hear it again tomorrow morning.

I throw back the heavy blankets, exposing my warm bed and my warm body to the cold air. I peel off my two pairs of socks and slip on my flip-flops.

I open my door. No sun...again.

Some days when I walk across the patio to the bathroom I discover the strong smell of fish. "Oh yeah...we are close to the water." How easily Lima makes me forget our neighbor, the sea.

Downstairs, my daily avocado on the table greets me. The salt I sprinkle on it smells fresh. I wonder if it came from the salt desert I visited in Bolivia two years ago. How could anyone ever confuse this stuff for sugar?

While eating I hear the man in the streets yelling things I can't distinguish. I know what he's doing though. He's on his bike cart looking to buy items that he can then sell to someone else.

"Chau" I say to Deborah, Damaris, and Pinina, the puppy. I step out onto the street and am instantly greeted by stares from whoever's loitering on the curb. I mumble something to myself and brace myself for the commute.

The absence or presence of people in the little park determines which way I will cross it.

Across from the park I encounter exhaust fumes from cars and buses. As I pass stores, I smell cleaning products, ripening fruit, baking bread. Strong colognes pass me as I pass men. Sometimes they're to mask another smell, sometimes they just smell nice.

I wait by the street and am bombarded by more sounds and smells. Big black puffs of exhaust fumes are shot at all of us waiting. Finally, a cobrador yells what I need to hear and I exchange the chaos of the street for the chaos of the bus.

A woman is pushed up against me on the bus. Perfumes and lotions make her the bright spot on the crowded bus. Does she work in a nice office? Other women put on their make-up. They must have really steady hands. Some people sleep, most people gaze off into space.

Exhaust fumes greet me once again as I rejoin others on the street. Hot liquids and hot sandwiches from the bundled-up vendors provide a break from this smell.

My nose is cold and my bones feel the humidity as I walk quickly. I don't even break a sweat. I wish I could.

It's humid and it's cold.

I ring the bell, "Soy Liz!"

I enter the office for another day of work.

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Comments

[Bloggito]

Beautiful
Almost like poetry, keep it up. thanks again Liz

[Lalor Cadley]

You are a story teller
I was right there with you all the way. This summer I think I am going to take a week off and go to a storytelling conference at the John C Campbell School in (I think) North Carolina. You might want to think about that one day when your life is your own again. You have a real gift. Take care, dear Elizabeth. See you in Aug/Sept. Love Lalor

[Bill Brown]

A Breath of Fresh Exhaust
Liz, I've been reading General Assembly overtures in Minneapolis. Thanks for the relief. Bill

[Liz Toland]

Haha, glad I could mix it up a bit for you!!! Safe travels back to GA...from GA! : )