Last night, we dragged our foam mattresses up to the concrete roof of the house, tied a mosquito net to the underside of the satellite dish, and slept under the nearly full moon. This morning I woke up to see the egrets overhead, white and crooked-necked, flying west to the river.
An hour later, we finished packing the car and began the day-long drive back to the capital.
And so I’m back at the urban guesthouse with the fluorescent lights and mildewed walls, unable to sleep. There are all these things that deserve explanation: The pigeons received as a gift yesterday evening, the way the moon looked at dawn. The eight year-old neighbor who sat against the wall of the compound this morning and refused to smile. Goodbyes alongside cars that are already running, I’m always leaving.