In every house there must be a perch from which you watch the outside world, and for me that was the kitchen window, the first window I opened every morning, propping up the lateral shutter with a stiff maize stalk. The window looked right out on the road, and I’d stand there, leaning out and trying to catch a glimpse of Tounkara. She lived right across the road from me. School children trudged along in khaki uniforms, women strolled by in bright veils, and men, cleaning their teeth, spit on the street. But sometimes I could hear Tounkara’s raspy voice calling out to someone in the distance, and my ears would perk up and keen for more. Hers was the first voice I heard when I arrived in Yéma, the one I remember, a voice of glinting stars and the scratchy dash of sound when a match is struck and sparks. I wanted her voice to keep glowing like that, and I understand now that I really wanted her to see me.
To read more, please see the November 2015 Long Distance issue of Contrappasso Magazine.