Night Sounds

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NIGHT SOUNDS

The night starts with the TOK TOK of wood hitting wood, some resonant, others flat, some women pounding in unison in a steady rhythm, others pounding alone at a slower cadence. Having returned from the fields, the women are hard at work cooking the evening meal, but they have to pound the corn and millet for the next day's meals. The thuds slowly ebb as the moon peaks up, and my neighbor's radio replaces the void. He turns it up so that it exceeds the capacity of the tinny speakers, and warbled West African dance tunes waft into the air, the bass lost entirely, the treble coming in and out of reception.

As the moon rises higher the sound of children laughing and yelling permeates the darkness. The heat of the sun has gone to bed, so if their work is done, the children can play. They run around dragging tuna cans on strings, with sand and pebbles that clatter around and make a racket against the metal. Some little boys cut circles out of dried gourds and make wheels out of them, mounting them on an axle and then attaching it to a stick to make a little wheeled stick (a name doesn't come to mind). In this way, equipped with slingshots for killing lizards, some kids pulling strings, others pushing sticks, they run around the village in groups, and the sound of their laughter lasts long after I've blown out my kerosene lamp and crawled under my mosquito net, carefully tucking the edges underneath my mattress to keep out the bugs of the night.

But the net doesn't keep out the sounds. I've barely drifted into that half-sleep coma when I hear a scratching, a rustling that has a hard edge to it. I sit up, and of course it stops. I sit silent and wait for it to come back, and I locate it as coming from the corner, inside a trunk. I flick my headlamp on, and there on the floor is a baby mouse, squirming around helplessly. I grab a cup and trap the little dude - he squeals for mom, but he isn't going anywhere. Next I inspect the trunk - the lid is ajar. I press it shut and lock it. Next I take the trunk outside and leave it there to deal with in the morning. I do the same with the baby mouse, and crawl back into bed.

Next I'm woken by a whirr, a squeaking and then my mosquito net is under attack by fluttering wings and a bat's radar system gone bonkers. I sit up again and turn on my light. Two bats are bickering, whizzing around and hitting the walls and occasionally my net. I sigh... what can I do? I debate my options, and eventually get out of bed, find another cup and a broom, and I start trying to whack the little devils out of the air. I manage to hit one, and when he cowers on the floor my cup slams down. Trapped, sucker. No more merry making for you. He joins the trunk and the mouse cup outside. I crawl back into bed, and the nearby donkeys lull me to sleep with their piercing brays.

At 4:30 the prayer call sounds. Long, muted calls in Arabic that come even before the stars have winked out. I roll over and wonder how many people actually go to morning prayer. Then I hear the roosters, maybe the prayer call woke them up too. Then I hear the TOK TOK thunking of wood on wood, the women have heard - and their call is to the mortar, to the day's work ahead of them. I search around and grope for my earplugs. This may be the start to their day, but it's not yet the start of mine.