True Story
As she was trying to find a cool spot to review language, the sound of children laughing in the compound caught her interest. Michie yelled over her wall, “Are you picking mangos?” They ignore her. Rustling branches and sounds of laughter from the canopy above are her answer.
Michie rushed out, “I want some mangos!” Isaac climbed down, grinning. “Let’s go to this other tree, he points to a mango tree with large yellow mangos ready to be picked high in the tree. She holds her arms up as Isaac tosses down the heavy, ripe fruits. This 10-year old grew up with these trees. He quickly hops from one branch to the next.
For a brief moment she felt nothing, then wetness on her legs. Oh, the stench of raw sewage! With a yelp, Michie shoots up out of the cistern, scraping her leg a second time on the rough, rotted cement cap.
That familiar feeling of adrenalin fills her limbs. No pain, no broken bones, only blood dripping from her thigh. “It’s nothing,” as she bent to gather her mangos. “I’m going to go wash the wounds now.” Isaac silently shimies down the tree, young brow creased. “Don’t worry, its not a big deal,” Michie reassures him.
Now a month later, Michie sports a few new scars on her leg, common for any cyclist, but her new inability to sit without pain is wierd. As soon as she sits to study language or sits in a taxi-bus, on the bed, any sitting, other than on a bicycle, causes intense pain. Tendonitis of the tuchas, says the doctor. Odd how the universe has suddenly slowed Michie’s momentum. She quite simply fell into a new perspective and has no choice but to readjust her priorities and to take life standing.
