Babycatcher

 Colors are more vibrant, particularly in rural areas. As we drive away from town, I touch my face to see if the effect is from my glasses, but I am wearing none. Perhaps it is the humidity or a horizon where earth touches sky and buildings rise from the fabric of the land.  Red earth births red bricks, which are topped with thatch and the occasional tin roof reflects sun and sky.  Along the road, a string of kiosks, simple thatched shelters, their hand-painted signs distinguishing one from its neighbors.  “Dine Fine.” This morning a young woman peers into a pot and stirs in her roadside café.  The rains are late, but they have arrived, and from a distance the damp earth seems to bear its first fruit - bright colors are grouped together among the tilled rows.  Men and women - mostly women - in vibrant prints, bend at 90-degree angles with hoes raised then thrusting downward.   A landscape of sienna and green against a blue-purple sky.  Six bunches of bright green lettuce stand alone in the open frame of a small teal-painted village store.  A woman’s red skirt catches my eye from where she stands in a field of black soil.  Men herd cattle and swat at two bulls whose flaring tempers blind them to their surroundings. As they butt heads one suddenly shoves the other into the road.  Our driver swerves in time and chuckles.  The beguiling beauty leads your mind’s focus away from the poverty.  This is a season of hunger.  Food stores are low and without irrigation all hopes rise upwards, coalescing in the heavy clouds. Perhaps hope alone becomes heavy, each thought a particle drawing in moisture and culminating in the thunderous precipitation.