Djam naa?

Hot season has begun.  The sun is generating such a powerful heat that it seems to rise from the center of the earth, to the surface of the sand beneath my feet, and into the surrounding air that I breathe.  At first everyone resisted, struggling to give up long sleeved shirts, refusing to leave their homes on account of headaches, and fighting each other with words and violence.  But after several days, they acquiesced, and a great silence has befallen the afternoons.  The doors to shops and homes normally open are now shut.  It is as if the sun drains the energy from our bodies in order to grow stronger, and at mid-day work stops, friends part, and sleep takes over.

As I return home from work, I walk slowly beneath the weight of the sun, feeling the moisture of my body drawn into my clothes with each step.  I hear only the sounds of my own feet digging into the sand and heavy winds carrying dust through the trees and across my path.  It is easy to imagine that I am the only person alive on Earth, until I come across another lone straggler, usually a woman carrying water on her head from the well, or grinding dried cassava on a rock to make cous-cous.  “Djam naa?” I ask in Fulfulde.  “Djam kondume,” she responds.  And in the quietude of the heat, I allow the literal meaning of the greeting to flourish:  “Is there peace?” I had asked.  “There is peace within,” she responded.