Trading in the trees

Two days left in Kinshasa. I've said all my goodbyes, packed nearly all of our things and given away what I could. I'm just left to wonder how you say goodbye to a country? The last thought on my mind, as Christian updates me on his apartment hunting from Abidjan, is the trees. I've managed to live in this city of 9 million by hiding away in the jungle.

My morning "view" it's just a lot of green

And more green....a warm cocoon of trees and plants

My breakfasts, as most meals, are spent on the porch listening to the birds and looking out over a calming sea of green. My commute has included nothing more than dirt roads and tropical plants. My evenings are spent on the same back porch, eating dinner, reading, browsing the internet, talking with the kids, all the time surrounded by the sounds of nature- nightbird calls, the rustle of lizards and cats and other creatures creeping through the dark, the chirping of crickets (sometimes so loud we actually make a beeline for the living room, shutting the door behind us in relief- painfully loud!)

True- Kinshasa is a city of dirt. There are often dirt mounds filling up the roadsides (remnants of the open drainage system they clean out periodically, shoveling huge piles of muck and mud that remain to dry in the sun and crumble eventually back into the earth.) The trees along the boulevard have long ago been cut down and cement is everywhere. Small patches of manicured grass and little squares filled with flower garden-ish arrangements may line the main road but off to the side streets it's all just more dirt. Returning from Abidjan, with plush greenery filling the eye no matter which direction one turns it seems,  made Kinshasa's hues of brown and gray and beige all the more striking.  I definitely remember the feeling that my eyes were drinking in Abidjan, filling up from a long parched thirst I hadn't really known was there. I  returned to Kin only to become withered and dry again.

But that's out there, on the streets.  Here in my home I am surrounded by luxuriant plant growth and tall, protective trees. I need the trees. They feed me almost as much as the sun, keeping me grounded and connected to the earth. The boys have spent countless hours scavenging fruits, coming home with bags and buckets of mangoes, star fruits, avocadoes, and apples. They've passed their days devising games that require them to climb branches, build forts and hide within the thick, prickly pockets of bamboo and elephant grass. They've come home with scrapes and scratches and itchy rashes and plenty of tales of their spying and stealth.

Mohamed in the trees searching for apples

On the eve of the eve of our departure, I am getting a little panicky. An apartment. In the city. No grass, no yard, no walks through the forest in the misty, foggy morning or the cool, dusky evening. I am already vowing to fill our space up with plants- though I have never been that successful with indoor plants. I consider that we will have no porch, no outdoor space to be in and I try to turn instead to the fact that we'll have running water- inside- I won't need to lug buckets up the steps. Always something to be grateful for, right?

I spent a good year or two making our front porch my bedroom. It served as a studio and a sleeping space. I'd done a lot of homework to find the right solution to my ever persistent back problems and came up with hammock sleeping as a remedy. I was gently rocked to slumber every night with a cool breeze blowing in and an occasional sprinkle of rain when the storms came. The night creatures serenaded me with lullabies and the taxi singers woke me each morning- 5 am without fail. It was like sleeping in a treehouse or camping outside. Transitioning to the indoor bedroom took some time.

As I suppose the big move to a real city will take some time as well. Christian and I talked about a lot of the things we would need for this move- his ambition to have everything set up and waiting for us when we arrive. I tried to prioritize for him so he wouldn't be overwhelmed. We'll need to take it slowly, acquire things bit by bit. I'd prefer a stove and a refrigerator before beds. I'm happy to sleep on the floor for awhile if it means I can eat yogurt for breakfast and bake fresh rolls. I don't mind using our containers for tables and chairs and we can always string up our hammocks in the living room for relaxing.  But I forgot to mention the trees.

Jungle path we know well

It's not that I have taken them for granted. One of the things my morning walk to school, and even walks from building to building throughout the day, has resulted in has been a continual sense of gratitude and humility. I have realized how spoiled we've been for most of the moments we've lived here. (Occasionally the black flies and gossip mills have functioned at such extremes I have wished to be somewhere, anywhere off campus, but for the majority of minutes and hours and days, I have remained slightly in awe of our privilege.)The trees are as essential to me as air and so perhaps I forgot to mention I'll need a good dose of them around. I hope he won't mind living with trees.