Dawn in the Jungle: Reflections on Aging and Daily Rituals

I awake, and, just for an moment, I have forgotten the pain. I very slowly open my eyes and reach for my cane that always hangs at my side. You can imagine how hard it must be to get in and out of a hammock at my age. I need all the help I can get. Every day the weariness is even worst than beofre. Could this be my last day. One day I hope I will awake, rejuvenated by some ghost-demon magic, or dead, either one would be a relief.

Sometimes I dream of my hammock as a cocoon from which I shall emerge, reborn, a beautiful butterfly, but it is only a dream. Dreams set me free. The irony is that, between the pain of my joints and the weakness of my bladder, I don't have many dreams; even empty sleep is a welcome luxury. I place my cane firmly on the ground and, slowly, with its aid, I lower myself from the hammock.

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Now the rains have gone my joints don't hurt so badly. Today won't be too bad, I think. I'm prone to be over optimistic.

The great fire ball slowly begins to rise in the air and narrow splinters of light pierce the leafy walls of the hut. At this time the jungle is strangely subdued. Half awake or half asleep, its denizens are in transition. For me this time of day has always been special. The time when all things change. As the bats fly to their roosts the early rising birds welcome the dawn with their softly chirped fanfare.

Dark gradually becomes light, and my dreams give way to consciousness. Its the magical crossover between two different worlds. At this time of day I can find joy in the simplest things: the sun's reflection in a drop of dew; the yawn of a child dragged from slumber by its mother; a leaf falling slowly from a tree. All around me I find the wonders of nature that comfort me in my old age.

I am not alone. The hut is full of humanity in different states between the two great worlds. My grand-daughter Monasi is already busy tending the embers of last night's fire. She poke around in the ashes to find an ember still glowing and too it she adds some dry kindling. Within minutes she has skilfully brought it to life and started a new fire and the daily cycle begins to repeat itself once again. She starts to boil water. I walk across the dirt floor to the fire side and squat down on my haunches by it’s side. I warm my bones by the fire as a lizard might steal the early morning sun. Outside there is a disturbance in the village. I hear shouting from outside but my old ears cannot make out the words, I hear people running. 'What's happening?' I ask Monasi. 'I don't know,' she replies. 'Well go find out,' I tell her, gesturing towards the door with my cane.