The Calling

Our yard in Ghanzi, Botswana. The lilac breasted roller is
on the right corner of the arbor. Can you see her? 

I was home alone, sitting in our bedroom, curtains closed, laptop at the ready, not even music to distract me. I was in writing mode.

I’m not sure where everyone was? A rarity, the house was quiet. I don’t even remember having the dogs around or for that matter, the goat.

Maybe everyone evacuated so that I could concentrate on my writing, something that happened on occasion. And because I wasn’t comfortable in isolation, I tended to make poor use of my time, meaning, I often found excuses to do anything and everything besides write. 

And so, it’s not a surprise that I heard a bird outside. Now, there are many birds in Botswana. After several years living there, I tended to tune them out and would have to concentrate to really hear them; the caw of pied crows, our own pigeons cooing, chickens clucking, and a myriad of grackles, swifts, an occasional bird of prey.

Today, this bird seemed insistent, repeating her cry. Waiting. Repeating the deliberate series again and waiting, as if anticipating a response. Curious, as to whom this bird was calling, I went outside to see.

It didn’t take me long to spot her. She was a lilac breasted roller. I could see her brightly colored plumage from across the green expanse of lawn. She sat on the edge of a branch facing our front door, with each gurble, she craned her neck, making her plumb body, long and tall. I stepped outside. She flew closer and perched on a wire a few yards from me. I took a few more steps toward her and she flew a few yards toward me. A thought crossed my mind. She called and I answered. Huh, I thought, but how could I be sure?

This is an actual pic of this encounter. 

The answer came in her response. She flew even closer. Now she landed on our arbor and looked down at me, making eye contact, crooning in my direction. I watched her repeat herself and wished I could understand her. Instinctively, I answered in my own language and much to my surprise, she responded with a different tune. She flew under the arbor and landed on the doorframe. Did she want to go in? No, she was preventing me from doing so. From where she stood, there would be no way for me to open the door.

We regarded each other for some time. I couldn’t help wonder what it was she wanted from me, because by now, we both knew it was me she was calling.

Finally, she flew away and trilled a farewell of sorts.

Little did I know she would visit me the next day and the next. Surprised each time, after she’d left, I wondered if I should I have fed her? I didn’t think to, not knowing how many visits she would pay me. But each time, I thought how special this was. And how lucky I was to be the recipient of this gift.

At the time, I saw the exchange as a reminder of the precious moments we too often take for granted. There would not be any lilac-breasted rollers to see, much less, interact with in the US, where we were headed within the year. It was as if I was being reminded that there are so many things to see, warned not to waste my time behind that computer, writing sequestered away from the very experiences I would document into words. I should go out and see things, hear things, interact.

After all, time flies. Before long, our life in Botswana would be over. We wouldn’t know when we would return, if we would return. I do know that the time we spent drew us out of our comfort zone, into the wilds of Africa where I heard my calling and I answered it.

Today, I think of that little bird. I wish she would have stayed longer. I wished I knew when she’d return. I still wonder what she wanted. I suspect, the reason for her calling would always be a mystery. No matter, the call was for me and I’m so glad I answered it.