Mango Season

Right now is the hot, dry season. My garden is anemic. It hasn’t rained in at least 6 months. Heat rash is common. So is taking repeated bucket baths and staring mindlessly into the distance. It’s also the season of mangoes, of the fruit thudding on my roof, of people marching around with 20-ft bamboo poles to tease ripe ones from the tallest parts of trees. I have a mango tree in my own yard. I sleep under it every night due to the intolerable heat indoors. In this season, the impossibility of napping in the daytime means I sleep more drunkenly at night, impervious to the possibility that mangoes might pummel my face and to the dinosaur noises of nearby donkeys.

There is this mystique of otherness around mangoes: tropical, exotic, imported. The thought that I could reach my hand up 3 feet, eyes unwavering from my book, and produce a mango inspires jealousy in some of my States-side friends. Mangoes connote places of green abundance and brown people. But Senegal right now is lethargic and arid. Mango trees, which take years to produce fruit, have deep taproots which siphon moisture from the water table several meters below ground. This is how, long after the rains have ended, and right about the time the landscape is colorless, mangoes sprout copiously. The arrival of mangoes marks a welcome injection of life to cut the barren mood of dry season.

The distinctness of the seasons here is at once comforting and monotonous: from March through May I’m certain I can sleep outside and not get rained on, yet I know every day will be the same sweaty, mind-sapping slog. I believe that the human brain liquifies with heat. I often find myself motionless in my room, knowing that there’s somewhere I have to be or something I should do, but my mind is paralyzed by heat. Then I look at my L.L.Bean digital clock/thermometer, and see that 40 minutes have passed and it’s 106 degrees in my zinc-roofed room. Granted, 106 degrees can be bearable in the land of air-conditioning, 7-11s, Slurpees, electricity, fans, ice-cold lemonade, showers, and put more simply, moments of escape. Here, the heat imprisons you everywhere you go.

Aside from a general concern over my African sun exposure pre-qualifying me for skin cancer, few things give me more pause than the prospect that my brain has atrophied due to malaria medication and extreme heat. The sun has bleached my hair, endowed me with freckles, and guaranteed me a year-round tan. I no longer get sunburned. My newfound blonde highlights are moderately attractive; will early onset senility be also?

I suppose the physical investment of living far away—far culturally, physically, emotionally, infrastructurally—is just part of the experience. It’s woven into the adventure of exploring one’s human capability. Am I less healthy now that I eat less protein, drink well water, expose myself to parasites, get baked by the sun, battle staph infections, play with grubby kids, and regularly ingest chemoprophylactic medications? Or, am I more healthy now that I get full nights of sleep, bike daily, eat fresh local ingredients, take spontaneous vacations, laugh more easily, and have a job that allows me to set my own schedule entirely?

In this far away place, where mangoes mean heat, seasons are predictable, and health is relative, I’m happy to leave most questions unanswered and simply pass out under the stars. But I can’t wait until rainy season.

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

8 thoughts on “Mango Season

  1. Morning Deb,

    Maya,

    Your blogs are always amazing. I forwarded your “Mango Season” to my friend and I have inserted her response below. Take care, stay hydrated and please put on your sunscreen.
    Deb

    I LOVE the way Maya writes!! I do hope she continues her writing after her Peace Corp days! Reading her blog made me feel like I was part of the whole experience!

    Enjoy your day!! Joanne

  2. Dear Joanne, I was in Louga from 69 to 71 and then in Matam 72 then in St. Louis from 73-75. Certainly can relate to your news. Certainly remember going to PC office in Dakar in March and April and passing thru Tivouanne where the mangoes were just scrumptious. The heat was indeed there. I am now retired permanent and living in Thailand. The hot season (Mar-May) has not been too hot, but like you we await the rainy season. The very best to you. Paul Pitarys PC Senegal 69-71 & 72-75

    1. Hi Paul, Its always nice to hear from former PCVs! Louga + Matam sounds like hot, hot, hot. Take care. Maya.

  3. Okay Maya,
    Mangos are good but.
    I too have remembrance of them while living in Ohau. In a house with three mango trees! There were mangos in the frig, in decorative displays on the table, rotting in the yard and peels attracting flies in the garbage pails. Couldn’t get away from the smell of them for two months.
    The trees were so prolific!
    This and the heat will all be behind you before you know it
    Uncle Brian

  4. Great post. It takes me back 50 years (almost). I think I have never been healthier than in my second year, in Sedhiou, for the reasons you suggest. I hated having to leave and return to our supposedly healthy living. One suggestion: use sunscreen-like brushing your teeth-every morning. Back then, we didn’t know how important sunscreen is. I have nerve damage that acts occasionally, even though I did wear a hat some of the time.

  5. You’re very funny:

    “…mango tree in my own yard, under which I now sleep every night, due to the intolerable heat indoors. In this season, the impossibility of napping in the sweltering daytime means I sleep more drunkenly at night…”

    Good grief, if that’s how you feel in April when it’s still nice and Senegal-cool, what on earth are you going to do in July when it gets really hot?

    Ha ha ha, so funny

    1. Haha, yeah. So, actually April is hot season. April & May are the worst months of the year. Super hot and dry. July is rainy season and it cools down a bit. With just the few rains we’ve had in June it’s become bearable enough for me to sleep through the night. Thanks for reading….

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s