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kenya. huffman and i were sitting against a house. white-washed and in the jungle. bleached from it's position along the equator. needless to say, it was hot. uncomfortable - balls sticking to your thigh, feet on fire - uncomfortable. and we were going on very little sleep. two to three hours a day. running patrols along the somali border, and it had taken its toll. you change. think in short bursts. a moment of silence and your eyelids close and sleep comes. good sleep. without pills. and it never lasted long enough. always ripped away by some posturing SSgt or sadistic NCO. but we accepted our lots in life - non-rates. although it wasn't that bad, i guess.
waking up to the smell of locals roasting coffee beans. eating mangos in the sun. building bonfires on the African coast, watching flames reflect off the ocean - our carriers looming several miles out, blinking securely.
and the animals. baboons - mean and mad. cranes - big 'n ugly; could snatch up a small child. cats. big cats and big bees and big ants. insects on 'roids. crawling up your nose. in your boots. down your neck, slipping the collar and scurrying across your chest. building hives as big as volkwagens.
but what i remember most was the independence. how a small platoon of Marines was tasked with guarding the somali border and carried out said task with men no older than 24. armed with machine-guns, rifles and pistols. we were alone out there. no police. no parents. just us and the animals. possible somali raiders. taking dumps next baboon skulls and watching giant centipedes shimmy over our boots. talking about Spartans and the best way to slice a man's throat. ironically, a rather innocent time. the war in Iraq was just a rumor. something we laughed about. we were kids operating on the stories of the past. history channel tactics. john wayne and "full metal jacket."
while en route, on the ship, i had read a few books. one of them, "the old man and the sea," Hemingway. couldn't help but think about the old fisherman - and those glowing eyes staring back at him from the shore.
lions. and his youth.
no pain. no swollen salivary glands. the only limitations - mental and easily overcome. a strong back and a stomach made o' steel...
huffman and i sat against that white-washed house and ate mangos and talked about girls and Temple of the Dog. but i think both of us knew we'd remember this little moment in time 'till the day we died - at least i will. a slice of life tattooed, hardwired to our cerebral cortex - an image; brief and faded, but there. always there.
mangos.
baboons.
roasted coffee beans.
centipedes.
the sun.
the cranes.
Africa.
