The call to prayer wakes me at 0445 and that prompts a distant rooster to get cracking but they both quickly fade out as the rain on the tin roof drowns them out and I drift back to sleep. I wake later, rain still drumming but imam and cockerel silent. It’s Sunday morning so now the Christian churches can be heard drumming up their business. There is little which is quiet about the way they do worship here.
I struggle to remember the number of times I have been here now, such is the work travel that brings me here. The place is quite familiar. Up until about ten years ago I would have kept track via journalling/blogging but events knocked the muse off my shoulder and they have struggled to climb back. They always joined me when doors closed on an aircraft but have been absent for so long. I regret that. I lived in Afghanistan and should have collected the most remarkable stories but felt no inclination to do so. In truth I was recalibrating and was focused on that.
Are the muse back? I feel them re-emerging and the passion re-awakening. There’s a lot to cover and to recover so I’ll trawl my notebooks and see what should be reposted. And there are some more comprehensive manuscripts which need to be dusted off and completed as well. In the meantime I’ll get back to work to the sound of early morning birdsong (my accommodation is in the bush), rain on the roof and the incomprehensible din coming from the church speakers on the ridge above me.
