Is it already September?

Somewhere in the world beyond this hot island the iminent arrival of autumn has begun to shift the patterns of daily life. Blonde streaks and tan lines start to fade under the florescent lighting of classrooms and offices. The evenings are cooler and sunset arrives sooner. Bright patterns and swimsuits find their way to clearance shelves. The baking heat and parched ground of summer begin to subdue, passing sleepily into the hints of the next season.

But not here. On the island of Sal an inconsolable haze seems to curtain off the rest of the world, sealing in not only the persistant tropical heat but the cultural attitude it imbies in the local inhabitants. Two days of torrential rain that left murky, stagnant pools in place of the dry red dust are the only signs that – perhaps somewhere else on the planet – summer may be drawing to an end. Life in Cabo Verde does not adjust to September. The beaches are still packed every day with tourists and locals alike, surfing, swimming, and frying in the violent rays of yellow sunshine. The mosquitos continue to torment and sticky sweet sand applies itself liberally to every surface. I have heard little, if no, news from the place beyond where something distant called a global economy and international enterprise are assumed to exist and function. Every day here is humidity and turtles. And apparently I have some odd tropical skin disease on my neck. Exciting new developments. I asked our taxi driver the other day if the temperature cools off at all come October. He chuckled.

The only sign of the changing season that we have been afforded is reflected in the changing dynamic within Turtle House. There are significantly fewer of us now, as those volunteers that were here for summer holidays have returned home to jobs, classes, and “real life” in the world beyond. As result, life has mellowed. We have less of the boyant, vibrant evenings like we did when the group of chipper French Scouts was here – ten or twelve people crammed into the kitchen (and no one wearing much more than swimsuits because of the heat among all the bodies), their conversation and laughs bouncing off the concrete walls and reverberating around the whole house, the smells of everyone cooking wafting through the open windows, guitar music and card games. Neither do we have the same level of tension in the house that stemmed from coordinating the schedules, personalities, and cultures of a group larger than twenty. Now things are mellow. Chill. Fewer dirty dishes crowd the sink and communal dinner times are cozy and familiar. Everyone more or less knows the jobs they have to do and how we all fit into each others schedules. I am not yet sure which dynamic I prefer, though I can definitely say that both lifestyles have been enjoyable in their own right. It will be interesting to watch the season wind down as September unfolds.

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