The moon is exquisite, red and high in the sky when I hear a rustling near the fence.
Logic tells me it’s the nomadic black cat that likes to leap into my yard, stalking mice and patches of light. But there’s something about blood moons that sends me scampering back inside, locking the door against ghosts (futile), intruders and things that go bump in the night.
My friend Erika doesn’t trust eclipses either and spends the evening praying for morning – not that the night will pass by quickly, but that morning will come at all.
As for my circle of alternative friends, they can hardly contain their glee. They’ve read up on how the lunar eclipse affects them based on their star sign and are either revelling or bracing for the Zodiac-dependent worst.
Most people don’t read that much into the dazzling, admittedly eerie, but totally natural phenomenon and spend the time it takes the moon to pass through Earth’s shadow trying to get a good photo.
Minus that business about the rustling, I’m like most people.
I remember there’s going to be a lunar eclipse with a jolt, then run out of my house to find Earth’s shadow has already taken a dainty bite. After jogging back inside to get my camera, I phone my mother (no answer) and my father (answers after three rings) and tell them to look at the sky.
As I fiddle with my camera settings, snap photographs and watch Earth’s shadow steal across the lunar surface, I feel strangely, though deeply, connected to the world.
Though there’s nobody visible on my quiet suburban street, I know that down the road at Hotel Thule, the Namibia Scientific Society is hosting a viewing event. I know my parents are watching and I know that, all over the world, people are looking up, appreciating the beauty of the moment, of witnessing and of being alive.
My feeling of deep connection is strange because I realise I’ve been in a profound state of disconnect and detachment. The world, it seems, has gone utterly insane and I’ve created a self-preserving emotional buffer between me and the realities behind the global headlines, each one more devastating than the next.
My safety barriers never last long because I’m not built that way. But I’ve been keeping a lot at bay through avoidance and as a matter of mental health. What I know of Gaza, the Congo, Sudan, Indonesia, Nepal, the suicidal crises of mostly men and boys here at home and the everyday horror faced by women, girls and LGBTQI+ people across the globe.
I’ve been avoiding the world, but the lunar eclipse brings me back and, for a moment, it brings us all together.
Some people see a blood moon, think the world is ending and pray fervently through the night. Others see a lunar eclipse as a celestial symbol of what’s to come based on their birth, perhaps cursing the day they were born a Gemini.
Many more think it’s a great opportunity to pit iPhone cameras against Android as so many of us labour to adequately document the moment, to feel united and a part of the story of the world.
No matter one’s beliefs, motivations or brand of mobile phone, later, on social media, there will be a million splendid moons.
Orbs over Gaza, Namibia and beyond.
It reminds us of what we should all know, never forget and safeguard, that we are all connected, all people, all equal under the moon.
– martha@namibian.com.na; Martha Mukaiwa on Twitter and Instagram; marthamukaiwa.com
