Life in Douala
Freezing the heat and life with words, one sweaty day, a while ago.
Sweaty for most of the day unless you’re in a room with an AC.
Or under a shower so you don’t know the difference.
Ventilators don’t help much, I can assure you.
There’s always a breeze. A trickle, of sorts. Like a sheet of gossamer crawling cloudless, boundless.
For a moment, you may be tricked into feeling relieved.
For a moment.
The warm sheet snickers on, kissing the droplets on your office clad skin, sending a warning call down your throat.
It’s warm too. Hot, mostly. Don’t trust the tap.
Well, if you can afford it.
Which is why the weapon of choice remains the transparent carbon-based water handler.
‘Plastic Bottle’, if you are so inclined.
They bear liquids. Often (not) transparent. Often (very) cold.
Every time you take a sip, you slip into a mild mind comma. Your body leaps in a silent recovery from the air’s terror.
It’s respite from work. Respite from breathing the same air that gets you breathing harder and unclasping your office armor from the light neck decor.