Homesick sounds

This isn't New Land Road.
It's better, actually; it's the road from Batouri to Yaounde.

The ubiquitous "they" say that the sense of smell is one of the strongest connected to memories. When designing therapeutic gardens for Alzheimer patients, for example, landscape designers use plants that will be familiar to older adults--roses, rosemary, lavender, sweet peas--in an effort to trigger memory recall and renewal from events or knowledge somehow tied to those smells in our criss-crossed brains.

Looking up case studies and having actual, solid references would be a good thing for a graduate student to do, but at the moment i'm studying children and play: aromatic therapy gardens will have to wait. I believe "them", however; the scent of freshly cut grass reminds me of my dad mowing the lawn on Saturdays in Pennsylvania and getting all scratchy as i played in piles of freshly mowed grass, cardamom reminds me of Christmas (and now it reminds me of baking Christmas bread with contents of two Republic of Tea Cardamom Cinnamon sachets since i couldn't find cardamom anywhere in the market in Cameroon), violets remind me of my mother and of the funky plywood bathroom shelves in Cameroon where she kept a tiny vial of Yardley's Violet Perfume. I can see that when i smell violets and almost reach out to touch the maroon painted wood and the contact paper lining.

Personally, though, sounds trigger memories as much as scents. I hear a sound, and it takes me somewhere like a summons i cannot disobey. I never know what they are until i hear them--it's not like i can think up a sound memory or many others. For example, last week i ran into a former student--someone i did not remember until i saw her face, and then all these memories about student teaching flooded back. A bit disconcerting it was, and i don't want to know what else is in there.

Anyway, back to sounds. Lumpy railroad tracks intersected my route to work this afternoon, a different way due to an errand. Keys rattled against the steering column as my car wobbled slowly across (slowly because all the raised pick-ups ahead of me had slowed down). My keys rattled, clack cling clack, then silent again.

Cameroon: I heard that sound every time i got a ride to school or market or home. The road was full of deep ruts and cars wobbled slowly as they drove lest an axle be wrenched or a rock scrape the underbelly of the car. Last time i heard that sound was as a passenger, driving out on New Land Road toward the airport, to leave.