Just another Day

By Rose Vidovix

I don’t need an alarm clock in the jungle. I hear the noise of the monkeys screeching far away in the trees and I know it will soon be time to get up.

The light is beginning to enter my room through the gaps where the planks join the wooden wall. I turn over in my hammock and cover my head with the not-thick-enough chenille sheet. After a few minutes dozing off, I wake again. This time with the birds singing and cheeping loudly.

Today is just another day and unlike the miners down in the “baixão” – the gold mines an hour or so away from me - I don’t have to get up just yet. I stretch out my arm and reach for my small radio from a shelf where I keep my precious books and my bible. I turn the radio on to listen to my favourite radio program “Good Morning, Amazonia”. Today, between songs and messages to people who the outside world can’t reach, the presenter talks about the dangers of having too much to drink. I stay in my warm and comfy hammock a little longer pretending I don’t have to get up just yet.

I wonder if, when I move away to distant lands, I will ever remember this moment in time, where the rain hits the tin roof and the warmth of the sheet is not quite enough to warm me up. I ask myself if my next place will be very different or even if there will be another place.

I turn the radio off and get up. I don’t need to get dressed because I usually have a shower in the evening and put some clean clothes on which I sleep with. Jeans, t-shirt and socks make very warm pyjamas.

I don’t attempt to open the window as I know the rain will hit my face, come into the room and turn the soil floor into a muddy mess. I open the door of my bedroom and look at what I call the kitchen and living room. A large room with no walls around it. On one side there is the raised fire and to separate the rooms there is a large table; on the other there is enough room for my orange hammock. I look around to see if there are any large snakes or small animals crawling on the floor.

I run quickly to the building outside for my morning pee. I am very lucky here to have a proper toilet that is covered and I can sit down when doing my needs. Most people have nothing more than the forest ground where the ants can crawl onto your feet and the insects fly under your bum while you are in your most vulnerable state.

I go back to the kitchen, and putting some water in a large bowl, I wash my face with the fragrant soap that I allowed myself to bring with me when I moved here. I reach for the blue towel and, after shaking a couple of insects off it, I dry my face.

I brush my teeth and as I rinse my mouth I plan my day ahead. No need to water the kitchen garden but it will be a good idea to pick the baby cucumbers today rather then hope they will turn into proper fully grown ones. With this rain, they will rot before long.

The firewood won’t last much longer than tomorrow and I’m hoping one of the men from the mines will come up here today, with some excuse or other, and they will cut some wood for me.
When the fire starts burning, I go to the well to get fresh water. Although the rain is constant we don’t have adequate ways to collect water and keep it clean so we use the well for drinking water and cooking. It is a lot worse in the dry season when there is no water in the well and I need to go to the river for all the water.

Placing the kettle full of water on the metal board above the fire, I wait for it to boil. My mouth is dry and I want a cup of the herbal infusion that people over here call tea. The water is boiling. I pour some into a white enamel cup with the herbs and pour the rest of the water into a pan and add some mille flour mixture to it, some sugar and a bit of cinnamon. That is my breakfast. I don’t really like it, but I have run out of wheat flour and haven’t made any bread for days. Today I choose not to eat rice for breakfast again. Once I have eaten, I pile the pans and dishes into a large shiny aluminium bowl with last night’s dishes. I sit at the table, sipping my tea and waiting for the time to pass.

It is almost 7 am and I need to turn the CB radio on. That is how I communicate with my people in town. We speak briefly but again, there is nothing much to be said. They are not sure if they will send a plane this week. It has been raining for days without stopping and the landing strip is so short that the clay soil holds onto the wheels of the plane and doesn’t let it reach the speed needed to take off. If they think they can’t land they will throw down sacks of provisions next week. We are awfully short of salt, sugar, beans and rice.

I hang the hammock in my kitchen and put some music on. I have saved the batteries for the tape-player for today so I turn the tape on and listen to Slave to Love by Bryan Ferry. I can hear the tape player slowing down but I rewind the tape and play it again. This time, I can barely recognize the song and less than half way through, it refuses to continue. I stay in my hammock, staring at the grey corrugated iron roof thinking of nothing, listening to the rain and the birds, the crickets, the flies, the wind in the leaves and all the jungle noises that one can’t pinpoint where it is coming from or what it is.

I write another entry in my diary but this time I don’t go on about the philosophy of learning to like your own company. Today I feel rather too cynical to discuss such matters. So my entry is just about the rain and the unusual absence of snakes in my kitchen/living room and toilet.

I lift the heavy brick that is placed above a lidded pan to avoid the gigantic rats opening it. Inside are the black beans that I put to soak yesterday afternoon for my lunch and dinner today. I pour the water out, place some new water in the pan and put the beans to boil in the fire.

The rain is a lot less intense now but there is still the constant spitting that I know will stay when the sun comes out. I walk towards the kitchen garden and pick all the small green cucumbers I find. I also pick a few small courgettes, red peppers and okra to send to the boys in the mines. After a few minutes my basket is filled with vegetables and I hope one of the boys will come up to the landing strip this morning or I will have to go down there. The vegetables need eating soon and I need to see someone. It can get very lonely here.

There is still some vinegar left so I pour it into two glass jars together with the baby cucumbers, add some salt, close the lid of each one of them and place both jars into a large pan of water in the fire. They will be ready in a couple of hours.

It stops raining and the sky begins to brighten up. I quickly put the clothes I washed three days ago and are still damp into a half barrel of water and hope that the lemon verbena leaves that I put in the water will take the mouldy smell away. I wring the clothes and start hanging them on the line. Apart from my two pairs of jeans everything else is very thin so it will dry in a few minutes. The sky is so blue now and the sunshine gets very intense, heating my back almost burning my skin underneath the shirt.

It is nearly time for lunch. I make myself some rice and cook some of the vegetables I got this morning. They taste fresh. The beans could have cooked for longer. I finish eating and put all the dishes in the bowl which is still half empty.

The heat of the sun makes everything steamy and it is very hot. I dampen a towel with cold water and my face. I hang it around my neck to keep me cooler.

I go to my room and from an old biscuit tin I pull out the last bar of chocolate I have. I go back to my hammock in the living room and sit down, leaning back, enjoying the moment I am about to have.

This is the last bar I have. I ran out of sweets a few days ago but kept this last one. As I tear the wrapper, I can smell the richness of the cocoa and the sweetness of the sugary coconut inside it. I have a small bite at first, savouring it slowly, enjoying the intense flavours, knowing that this is likely to be the best part of my day.

When there is no chocolate left, or any smell of it or even the after taste in my mouth I get up and picking up the bowl with the dishes and a bar of soap, I go down the path towards the rivulet where I wash the dishes.

The jungle is never quiet. You can hear so many noises and although you are lonely, you are never alone. I wash the dishes in the stream and go back to the hut. It starts raining again so I quickly put the clothes which were hanging on the line back inside. The T-shirts and underwear are dry but the jeans could do with another half an hour out there. Hopefully tomorrow the sun will last long enough to dry them.

It doesn’t look like anyone will come up here today so I better go to them. I pick up my vegetables and place them into a canvas sack. I tie the sack into my ‘jamanxim’ – a straw rucksack that we use to carry goods up and down the hills.

Closing the door of my bedroom and leaving my place behind, I start my journey towards the miners’ camp. I walk down past the rivulet and further into the jungle. I hear the monkeys again but can’t see many birds because of the rain. The tall trees look majestic from below and as I look up, I can see the light coming from above the green, thick canopy of trees.

As I carry on walking there is more to be seen, dead leaves, new green shoots sprouting from everywhere, the occasional tree trunk on the ground. I manage to avoid the nest of red ants that I stepped in last week and still have the marks from on my feet. The memory of the incident makes me feel a little stupid. I knew I should not wear flip flops when going down that path. Of course, they all wear them over here but it was silly of me.

The track opens into a fork and each new track goes to a different camp. I choose the one on the left, not only because it is nearer but also one of the men there is a good hunter. So they often bring me some pieces of meat from one animal or another. If I give them plenty of vegetables someone will take some to the other camp at some point later today.

When I’m nearly there, from the distance I see Cigano – his nickname is also the Brazilian Portuguese word for gypsy – with his knife, skinning a large rodent. I will have a good dinner today. I shout “Hello” and chat for a little while. I follow him back to the camp and we exchange gifts. I know he, too, will be looking forward to his dinner tonight.

Soon it is time to say goodbye. I walk back home and the rain above me continues to hit the trees but somehow I don’t get very wet. The trees keep the rain to themselves I suppose.
All the way home I think about the song I heard earlier and I wish I could sing it or even know the words. I sing another song, quietly at first, and as there is no one around to hear me making a fool of myself, I try singing at the top of my voice. Somehow the song doesn’t sound the same song I wanted to sing so I go back to a quieter mode.

On my way back I collect a few sticks and put them into my straw rucksack. I will have to cut some serious wood tomorrow. When I get back home I unload the wet wood and place it above the metal board above the fire. That should dry out next time I light the fire.

I pour a cup of dry beans on the table and pick out all the stones, and the beans I feel are not good for cooking. I rinse the rest and put them into a bowl of water to soak for tomorrow.
It is almost time for dinner. I am undecided how I am going to eat the meat. I light the fire while I make my mind up. If I cook it and them put the beans inside it will make the beans a bit softer. So I cut it into pieces and place the pan in the fire. I have to be careful not to let the sticks to catch fire. Once they are dry, I place them aside and feel better for having wood for tomorrow. There is nothing worse than having no dry wood to light a fire with.

Dinner is ready but I never eat before having a wash. Today I have enough water from the rain to have a shower with. I take my clothes off and with a metal can, I throw water over my body. It is cold and I quickly rub the fragrant soap all over. I don’t have time to enjoy the moment as I am already shaking. I rinse the soap out and wrap myself in a towel quickly. I change into one of the fresh washed t-shirts and a damp pair of jeans. I have to wear my jumper tonight. It is raining even more and the night soon takes over my place.

I light a candle and sit at the table to eat. So I re-heat the rice and pour some of the beans and meat stew on top of the rice. Dinner tastes a lot better than today’s lunch. I love the taste of food that is cooked in a smoky room. It always tastes better.

Once the dishes are in the bowl, I go to my room. I get in the hammock with my chenille sheet around me, a candle in the chair near by. My book is almost ending but I have saved it for tonight. It has a happy ending, which makes me smile.

I turn the radio on and the voice of the radio presenter is very soothing. The radio brings back the memory of what is it like to be with real people in the real world. It makes me think of all the people I love and miss.

He wishes Happy Birthday to everyone whose birthday is today. I turn the radio off, blow the candle and cover my head. I feel tears in my eyes but I wipe them, say ' Thank you' and try hard to stop thinking and sleep. After all, it is just another day.


Word count: 2722

The Perfum

by R Vidovix

She has finally managed to wipe all traces of William’s ex wife from her garden. Gone is the awfully bright pink and yellow combination of unloved and uncared for plants, and the ghastly collection of garden gnomes.
The plants have all been replanted in different spots as she would not stand to kill a plant just because of her dislike of Donna. Some of them have been planted together with other plants in the terracotta pots that have also been added to the garden.
She has packed the garden with shrubbery and other evergreen vegetation. The ivy has almost covered the brown wooden fence. Now she knows that her garden will look like a garden even in the English winter months when all the trees are bare and there is not much life around.
The Clematis has grown even taller and wilder than last year. As she approaches it, she senses the faint smell of its flower. It is sweet and delicate like her first bottle of perfume. She closes her eyes and she remembers.
She remembers well. Her mother had given her some money for the shopping and some medication. As she stopped in the chemists, she saw the boy who she had loved for a long time. He was cleaning the shelves of the perfume cupboard and as he saw her he smiled at her. He was holding a bottle of Cecita, a very popular brand of perfume.
She couldn’t resist, she went to him and said ‘I would like to buy that bottle, please!’ Almost in a trance, she watched him as he packed the bottle in it is pink and gold box and wrapped it in some floral patterned wrapping paper, like it was a present. She didn’t care that she would have almost no money left. She would worry about the shopping and the medication later.
A sudden noise brings her back to reality. It is William. She is not expecting him home at this time. It is too early.
‘I have got a present for you’ He says as he waves a little gift bag in the air, teasing her.
‘What is it? Please can I open it now?’ She is very excited as she loves presents.
‘It arrived at my desk this morning, all the way from Brazil.’
She is excited. She doesn’t miss Brazil much but she does longs for a few things that you can only get in Brazil and William often brings them home.
After a little more teasing he finally hands the gift back to her. She opens it and inside the bag there is an object wrapped in pink tissue paper. She opens it and there it is…a bottle of Cecita, her favourite perfume.

Word count: 458