Distant Frequencies

I've always been intrigued by the ambient sounds of a foreign place. When at home, I rarely notice the train in the distance, or the cars passing by, or the air conditioner whirring in the corner. They're too familiar. But the collection of sounds in Bungoma that the natives probably tune out for the same reason present a beguiling commotion to the unfamiliar ear. At night, the ambience is amplified.

For the third night in a row, the evening sky has apprised of an imminent thunderstorm. The heavens fade into a hazy shade of indigo, and distant clouds materialize. When the rain begins, it drizzles for a few minutes before the sky ruptures all at once and lets loose a torrential downpour. The rain lasts for about an hour every time, and the last 20 minutes are as if someone is very slowly and very steadily tightening a leaky joint in some faulty plumbing. More enthralling, however, is the interplay of lightning and thunder that follows. The lightning is so bright and sharp that it sets the entire sky on fire, and seems as though it must be only a few feet above. The thunder, however, stalls for such a long time that it must be miles away. Additionally, such a sharp strobe of light would seemingly call for an abrupt crack of thunder, but in this too, the thunder slyly misleads. Instead of a sudden clap, the thunder always seems to roll faintly as if the sky ate something it was having trouble stomaching.

Another midnight sound was not so easily identifiable. We knew it was either crickets or frogs, or perhaps both, but for the first night, we were unsure. On the second night, we had our answer when a frog vaulted its way into our room. Mike found it in the shower at first, but two mighty hops later, and it was across the threshold and under the desk. I think it must have sensed a kindred spirit here in the form of a one-legged frog prince. After chasing him around for a few minutes, Mike eventually caught him, and tossed him outside to croak all night with the rest of his buddies.

Perhaps the most intriguing sound in the distance is the sound of Muslim prayers being broadcast over loudspeakers from a nearby mosque. I don't remember this from my previous visit, and I really hadn't noticed many Muslims in Kenya. I know that a moderate percentage of the population is Muslim, but most of them reside in the larger cities - especially Mombasa, which is further East, and more within Islam's sphere of influence. We did pass a few small mosques on our bus ride, but they didn't seem well populated or well kept. I can't recall if I've ever heard these infamous daily prayers before. A few times each night they can be heard, sometimes bellowing militaristically, sometimes billowing melodically, and always muffled. While the broadcast prayers of the mosque are the most present, I'm even more conscious of another expression of distant prayers. Yours. The conference has seen many lives in the process of transformation, Mike and Faustin are managing the training with wisdom and grace, and my ankle is healing much more quickly than expected. Some distant vibrations, it seems, are louder even than the ambient sounds of the night.