“Have you ever watched the sun set over Lake Elementaita? When you went there, did you watch the sunset? I’d love to do that, and to watch the sunset over Lake Victoria.”

“No. There was no sunset when I got there. I’ve watched the sunset over Lake Victoria. It’s beautiful!”

“What do you mean there was no sunset? Doesn’t the sun always set?”

“I mean, I didn’t see it set.”

We laugh at this. We look at the horizon behind us, at the jagged hills, and see slivers of the evening sun obscured by threatening and cowardly clouds. The dust lies as thick as always, filling up folds and seams with a satisfied comfort, seeming to become heavier in the waning daylight. It will not rain, the clouds are all puff. There was a moon rising on the opposite horizon. It pulsed red and orange, climbing up steadily and finally becoming stark when it reached its peak, big when it was low, small when it was high. The land was awash in its ghostly bluish-white glow that made you think of hastily applied water colours that would stick to your fingers if you were to reach out and touch the spaces. The day had left hastily, leaving the cool behind. The air got slowly heavier, sitting on our skins and soothing the sting of the day’s light and heat. It was over. There was no sunset.

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