She called after us, only somewhat ironically, “Try to walk in the shade!” Red dirt on my super heated black shoes. Beer caps smashed into the road caught the sun and reflected it upwards into our squinted eys. Sometimes we could shelter under an enormous and impossibly green mango tree. They were all full of iguanas and often little children as well who would toss a mango down to you if you asked.
Walking down the street with the sun hovering inches above our heads. I can still easily conjur up that erie feeling that my brain was cooking or drying out. White shirts, ties bleached by the sun, dark slacks absorbing the heat and the sweat and leaching salt into crystalline patterns on our thighs.
It was nearly impossible to keep your eyes open sometimes. Sitting in metal framed chairs made by wrapping vinyl strips around and around and around. Even when they were poorly strung and the strips cut into you it did nothing to keep you alert.
It was against nature to be running about in the heat of the afternoon. All other living things knew it was time to sleep in the shade.
Note: I was experimenting with writing as quickly as I possibly can (this was about a minute and a half total), trying to capture some of the feelings and memories of when I was a missionary in Venezuela. I am debating starting a new site for this kind of stuff, or having a special “Not Funny” header for your protection.