FanStory.com - One Day at Fiveby Esther Brown

Marshmallow yowled his mating call in the darkness outside my bedroom window. The only females around were civet cats, a bit bigger than my ball of fluff, but he didn’t care. “She” was answering him now. I liked the sounds of mating cats. That meant kittens. I would have to hunt for them, and knew how to lie in the dirt under the house listening for mewling of newborns. If only I could catch one!

I loved the protective cloud of the mosquito netting around my bed, and felt like a princess. I would look at books with a flashlight for a bit. Soon the rhythm of the talking drums began, gentle and calm most nights, softly thrumming me to sleep.

Mourning doves woke me. Along with a chorus of other birds I didn't know. Dad had already returned from seeing patients at the hospital.

Breakfast over, chores done, my time was my own. If I got bored, I would go down to the surgery and hang out. Mom taught me to weigh powders and put it in capsules. Sometimes I picked up bloody things off the surgery floor or wrapped rubber gloves in papers to cook in the pressure cooker. The smell of drip ether was intoxicating, and mom would do that for some patients. She had a silver thing that looked like a funnel. I wasn’t allowed to get too close, she said it would make me sleepy. Standing on a stool watching Dad operate was my favorite pastime. People had a picture before surgery on a stretcher with odd-looking tumors, then another afterwards to prove it wasn’t some demon inside. Whatever they had, Dad knew how to fix it. He always sewed a white gauze over the cut to keep the germs out, or so he told me.

After lunch, my parents rested. Only madmen and Englishmen go out in the midday sun. And one little white girl, followed by her cat Marshmallow. He strutted with his tail up in the air, just behind me like a faithful friend. I would climb in the guava trees by the saw mill, wander the dirt paths toward the village, or climb frangipani (Plumeria) trees. They have a sticky white sap, so I had to be careful not to get it on my clothes.

My parents worked in the afternoon until dinner, which we often had on the veranda. We could see the sunset spread across the sky, violent streaks of color from yellow to crimson and finally changing to deep purple. The air was smoky from African fires on the plain below. Birds dipped and weaved, dancing across the sky. Suddenly, it was dark. The mosquitoes drove us in before the stars came out.

If it was bath night, a fire was lit under the water barrel. Being the youngest, I had the first inch of rusty water. The generator would run for a bit. Dad and Mom would read, and I curled up with a book too. My favorite was the “Pokey Little Puppy” or “Squiffy the Squirrel”. Then devotions, prayer time and bed.