Since arriving in Abidjan, I've had the occasion to write about a few experiences which felt miraculous. Though small in nature, at the time the impact was great. And unexplainable. Miraculous, really.
But there have been the 'others' as well. The opposite of a miracle? Or maybe I just mean the opposite force. Or maybe it is all one force - a random universe force that isn't 'good' or 'bad' but just is.
Rather than get into the philosophical side of things maybe its just easier to tell the story. There is a lingering part of this from Kinshasa that I haven't ever told. And if I were to go all the way back to the beginning, well there are moments here and there from early teens. The most terrifying when I was about 14.
Many years have passed since then, of course, and even the Kinshasa incident felt isolated and connected to my relationship with a person rather than completely otherworldly of itself. Remove the person and the spiritual stuff calmed right down.
This time, it was near the beginning of school, that time of year when it always feels crisp and clean to me like autumn air, though I've lived in Africa for 8 years - long and far from real autumn freshness. A new school year coupled with a new job was meant to lend some excitement, but I was still lost in the haze and confusion and slightly unwelcoming sense I've had since moving to Abidjan.
One of these new school mornings I woke up with a large bruise on my neck. There were two long scratches and two small puncture wounds in the area. I looked as though I'd had a run in with a cross from the wicked witch of the west and the Wesley Snipes character Blade. I imagined all kinds of complicated and unlikely scenarios about how this could have happened without me waking. The bruise was a deep, dark purple and the scratches long and scabbed. While it gave me an opportunity to meet the school nurse, she didn't really have any concrete ideas about how it could have happened either.
I walked around for days feeling unnerved by the idea of spiders and other creepy crawlies getting that close to me- to my face! to my baby!- but eventually put the whole idea out of mind. I sleep tucked inside a mosquito net and began to make extra sure each night that all the edges were secure.
Over the next few months, other odd things started happening. Scratches and bruises appearing in the morning, or sometimes even in the middle of the day it seemed, that I couldn't explain. I have always bruised rather easily but some of these marks were so big and deep purple that is seemed impossible not to have felt pain at the moment- a bump I should have remembered.
An internet search revealed that these mysterious signs aren't that uncommon. Apparently there is a whole community of people who suffer from unexplained scratches and bruises which I can now reluctantly join. I won't link any of the pages here because I found the whole thing disturbing. I am super sensitive to paranormal stories and even alien conspiracy theories and I couldn't sleep for at least a week.
Other searches included looking for spiders and insect bites that might result in some of the markings I had, even a grisly search about whether cockroaches bite (anything to get the idea of spirits and alien abductions out of my head. I could battle an angry cockroach a lot easier than the unseens.) Turns out cockroaches are scavengers and, if caught munching on humans, it would most likely be finger or toenails or eyebrows (yeah, apparently there was a story or two about eyebrows being completely munched off -eeew!) In those cases, the websites assure, you'd have to have a HUGE infestation of the bugs and most likely it would never get to that point without some kind of intervention.
While I do see the occasional cockraoch around, it is no more than you might expect for living in the backwoods of a tropical country. There is definitely no infestation and I felt pretty sure that was not the cause of my mysterious markings. Great. Sort of.
Last week I woke up to seven scratches on the back of my calf and two nights ago, after an intensive (but harmless) dance class, I found a bruise covering my knee, swollen and painful and unexplainable. I'd been mentioning them to a friend, especially after that internet search that freaked me out. She shared some of my story with her friend, someone who has been here in Ivory Coast for the last few decades. "Well, what they would say around here is that it is one of the masks." She was referring to my small collection of masks hanging on my living room walls. She mentioned that one of them had felt unsettled to her when she'd last been at my place.
I considered this. I imagined each of the masks I'd bought, the way they'd called out to me in the market. We'd shared a long intimate gaze and I'd walked away and returned to each of them several times before finally purchasing. I've been living with most of them for years. The oldest since 2001, the newest since maybe 2012? 2013? I admire them, appreciate them, consider them. I feel like we have a pretty friendly relationship. I like to think I would notice if someone was feeling upset.
I came home that night with new eyes. I asked them each if they were doing ok. I considered who might be missing Kinshasa, or be feeling ill placed or even slightly dusty. I didn't have a feeling of malevolence. They seemed like my same old masks. The friend of a friend had also mentioned if it wasn't the masks, then maybe it was something that had occured in the house previously.
I wondered why it had taken a year to present itself. Aside from the few nights after my internet search and an occasional night here or there, I'd felt nothing but safe in the house. Still I've begun considering a move. I think of scary movies and how, when you're watching, you keep yelling at the charcaters to just move already and you wonder what is taking them so long. You say, "If that were me, I would be out of there! Why is she staying in that house?!"
But of course, in real life, there are always other considerations. Real life complications. Money, finding a place, getting a moving truck, saying goodbye to your neighborhood- which for all its inconveniences, you've grown to love a little bit. In Africa, deposits can run from 3-6 months of rent plus realtor fees. It's a sizeable amount of cash. Location is everything and finding something affordable in the right place is akin to the old needle in the haystack, or winning the lottery. Whenever someone moves into a new spot, the first question everyone asks is, "How did you find it?"
I'm still feeling calm, or at least, unthreatened, even as I keep better track of the mysterious scratches and bruises on me, the aches and pains from the boys and anything else out of the ordinary. I've got my mind on moving, even if all the small pieces aren't in place yet. And I am considering a few other options, African options for an African problem I suppose. It's sure to lead to at least a few more interesting tales.
