I hear screaming and squeaking. I hear clippedy-clip as their claws scratch against the tin roof. They’re running and chasing each other, looking for food and playing along the wooden balks above us. At times we can glimpse a long, fat tail or a curious nose pop out between the planks.
The complete darkness surrounds us already at 6 in the evening, and that’s when it all starts: the motions, movements and the sounds. That is when they all try to move in.
At night we sit under the stinky mosquito net, listening and watching. We are watching the lamp move although there is no wind, we keep an eye out for insects and scorpions and we listen to the clippedy-clips.
The house is big with two floors, two toilets and two bedrooms. We only use the master bedroom on the top floor since we have a feeling that something is already living in the one downstairs. Everything is built in a dark, robust and beautiful wooden material. The house itself is art. The walls are not built together with the roof but all over the house is a space of a few decimetres between them. It’s a beautiful handicraft but it invites both the animals of the jungle and the cold to come inside.
We lie close together in the bed and trying to keep warm, despite the socks, cardigans, scarfs and leggings we are wearing. Finally we manage to doze of. But a few hours later, we awaken suddenly from screaming and a bunch of noises we don’t recognize. I’m too tired to investigate but decide that birds and racoons are having a party outside.
The next time we wake up it’s almost noon and the jungle is quiet and peaceful again. All we can hear now is the wind in the trees knocking on our windows. The nightly activities are gone. Everything that was playing, screaming, running, climbing and keeping us awake has now gone to bed. The sun is here to warm us but we are too tired to notice.
Who knows, maybe soon we too are becoming animals of the night who sleep during the days.