lumière des étoiles

Tozeur
2006-07-24 8:01 p.m.

The second call to prayer woke me before I was ready this afternoon. The heat is so oppressive in Tozeur that one cannot avoid sleeping during the afternoon. There is a real sense of killing time here, indeed; though the community is so friendly and quick to welcome that I dont feel a screaming urge to leave. Just today we let an hour pass after lunch talking with the owner of Le Medina restaurant about the Lebanese, Algeria, Brooklyn, Bush and being a teacher. Its funny how french comes rushing back to you if you dont stress about it.

My daze, though, to be honest, has less to do with the heat and more to do with an email I read just yesterday: my brother wrote me that my uncle died - the last of my fathers brothers still living and the one who, through jazz and general approach to life, reminded me most of my own father. I suspected he might pass while we were gone, but put off dealing with it and so went numb for a few minutes until bawling over lunch in an air-con restaurant. I think Steve realized I needed to be comfortable and so dragged us in to the air-con place, despite my protests over its higher prices. Its an indescribable feeling when you realize that someone cares for you so deeply that they can anticipate your moves and moods sometimes better than you can.

I managed to see my uncle the day before we left, despite his not wanting visitors. I just knocked on his door, leaving him no choice; came barreling through like a tornado not literally destroying anything, but certainly stirring up some awkward moments between he, my aunt, myself and the PT who was treating him. But once that passed and I told him of Tunisia, I only got smiles and thumbs up, and recommendations from him for the kind of music I should seek out here. Leave it to Uncle Don to replace, in an instant, the frail man who sat before me, subject to the will of his withering body, with his old, familiar, larger-than-life presence. He transformed in just that moment, becoming, almost unselfishly, what I needed him to be, and what he wanted to be for me and everyone else. This, I guess, is why I thought he wouldnt die, ever. But that was foolish.

And now here I am, in the Saharah, days from an international airport, unable to rebook flights back to nyc in time for services. But even if I could, would my uncle - who refused everyone making a fuss and lived for lifes diversity of experiences and rich cultures - want me to? I see my uncle everywhere here; I did before I heard of his passing. He is in the kind gestures of the Tunissiennes - the caretaker of the Kasbah who insisted on giving us food and water (his own) and told us we would have beautiful children. He is in the face of the young teenagers who want to talk about football and music. And he is in the horizon, where the sun breaks over the sand and makes me remember how big life can be. I think I can find my peace with his passing here. I hope I am making the right decision.

Thats it for now - think we are hitting Mahdia or Matmata soon; I will be able to write from there.

xoxo