Posted by: Viola | December 8, 2014

Pea soup fog

Tonight, the fog has descended upon us. This is so rare. We live in a city of clear California skies. Clear day skies. And clear night skies. But tonight, the fog has arrived. So many things remind me of Cameroon. And the fog is not an exception. The land of hills my Cameroonian father hails from is a land often shrouded in heavy fog. At night, driving through that hometown, you cannot see a thing but the fog. Everywhere. It is so thick. My mother says this kind of fog is called “pea soup fog.” Have you ever had pea soup? If you are from Cameroon, maybe you have not had pea soup. But it is thick and grainy soup. You couldn’t see through it, if you tried. And so I see the fog here, covering us on this full-moon night. So bright and big is the moon, but we cannot see it tonight. And this makes me think of my father’s hometown. My ancestral village. Now a town. Covered in fog. So bright a place but buried in moisture. Damp and invisible. Like someone poured a pot of pea soup all over that place. Many a car will crash and crumble, on its way through that town. Many a life will be taken that way. Stopped by that fog. That powerful fog. Best to not be out there at night. Best to not travel through that fog. Best to wait until the morning. Until the sun is up and the skies are clear and the air is thin again.


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