2006-01-19 - 12:12 p.m.

January 18, 2006

The sun is setting and with it the feeble warmth of the day, lending the way to the sharp cold wind that has been lacing the past few nights of the coldest month so far this winter. I hear a drumming beat in the distance – it’s most likely women or children beating on empty oil jugs to a beat so natural to them, a beat that has accompanied this land for centuries.

It’s a beat that pulls me back to a cool night in December before Hadrami and I left Magta Lahjar on our way to Senegal, when we visited a few women, Limnaye’s friends, to say goodbye and thank them for their kindness. As we sat under the tent on the sand, lit by candlelight, the girls started drumming and soon after that started singing a gentle tune that spoke of love and God and life. It was a night difficult to forget, as we sat there as if frozen in time, away from electricity, away from tvs and radios, away from paved roads and fast cars, in a warm circle of women whose husbands were somewhere far away and whose fate had dealt them a life to be lived in the modesty of a little town stretched between ancient and modern times, away from the rest of the world, a world that they will never get to know or understand.

There is something magical about the pace of life here. It must be the gift it gives its people: the gift of kinship and the awareness of its value. There is no such thing as “not having time for someone” – the moment a guest arrives, all plans go out the window and all attentions are dedicated to them, grateful that they would take the time to visit. Days are spent with family, spelled by a routine that at first might seem boring and non-stimulating to the foreign eye, but that constitutes the glue that keeps together neighbors and relatives with their daily respect-paying visits and careful attentions. People are more important than money, more important than work, more important than personal gains, more important than selfish desires… and the local pace of life is a testament to that.

I turned twenty-seven years old today and a moment of clarity hit me: I spent my last year living on my own in a small town in Africa… I am grateful for the courage it took me to take this step and start this peculiar experience, one I will never forget and that will always remain in my heart as one of my dearest memories, with all its emotions and lessons learned, its people and new found friends, its different flavors, colors, smells and sounds... an experience that belongs to me and me alone, a gift that I gave myself when I decided to live an inspired life, a life filled with passion and unconventional turns.

Love and many thanks for your continued support,

Jordy

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