Khalidi Anasi Azizi

Khalidi called me this weekend
I was in Oregon
My grandma died a week ago
And I am very far from Africa
He sounded the same
Clipped simple English

And I remembered
Lying on my bed
Tying his dread locks together as
He fell asleep
The next day he'd be
Awake for hours before he noticed
Why did you close them?
He's accuse me
A dark flash across his bony
Beautiful face
I didn't dum-dum
I'd laugh and tell him to lighten up
And sometimes he would actually try

But it was hard for Khalid to be happy

My arm says we all have earned our lightness
But the truth is
Some of us have but can't find it
Because we are hungry
Because hope is dangerous
And we earn and we earn
But things stay heavy

Khalid walks lightly
On bare feet
But his sharp shoulders
Are curved
And sometimes thick venom
Spins from his mouth
It beats against the
Hard Zanzibar nights
And lands heavy inside his ribs
While he sleeps in the ghetto
There is no roof to keep it out

And the cycle continues

One night Khalidi
Sobbed in my arms for the orphans
And he was soft and liquid
And fifteen years old
With his mother just dead
And at that moment
I would have put him in my stomach
And I wished that love was simpler
And more like the ocean

This weekend
He asked me to call him back
And I promised I would
His demands were
Softer and I don't know if it's the
World between us or
Something else
But it just made my heart ache like dry lungs
With all the things I cannot do

Writing

Ok Lovers, here are two last things I wrote while living in Zanzibar. The first is about forming a friendship with a man named Kassim in the village where I lived. The second is my thoughts the day I left Zanzibar. I am going to post some more photos soon too. S

PS. First photo: Uroa kids with Aline at dusk, Next: Muridi, a boy who taught me all the Swahili words he could in one afternoon.


Kassim
April 2008

I like Kassim
I remember the morning he asked me my name
I had been staying here nearly a week
And every morning he served me my
Fruit and bread and
Tea and juice
With out a smile
From that
And the way he looked at me
That first day
(I could have sworn it was with contempt)
I deduced that he did not appreciate my presence
But would do his job anyway
So the fruit and bread
And tea and juice faithfully arrived
And I placed him alongside the cold and indifferent
(At least he wasn't leering or laughing)
And brought my books to the breakfast table

Then one day I got up early
He was caught off guard
Breakfast time? He asked, and before he could delete it
And control it
Worry crossed his face
And I thought
Is that concern? Because of me?
Yes, is that ok? I was running late and could go with out
Twenty…five… minutes? He asked in hesitant, forced English
I checked the time
It's ok I told him, moving to go
The worry on his face increased
And I was so surprised by the display
That my appointment at the school
Shined less urgent and I felt
A smile tugging the corners of my mouth
25 minutes? I asked
Utterly confused how it could take 25 minutes
To bring out bread and fruit and tea and juice
But softening by the second
Yes he said, hustling into the tiny kitchen

I sat
Intrigued by this newly dimensional man
And his sudden and disproportionate care for my nutrition
When he brought the plates
(It couldn't have been more than five minutes)
He had clearly prepared his question
You go town today?
I shook my head, to school
He nodded
It seemed he accepted this reason to be up early

With the next plate, the next question arrived
At school… You student, or teacher?
I'm going to be teaching. English.
I was absolutely not ready for the smile that
Broke sharp and brilliant across his lean
High cheek boned and ebony face
Oh the sound was almost a laugh
That's good
I found myself grinning dumbly in return
Charmed

Before I finished eating he reappeared at the table
So, (he makes such direct eye contact it's unnerving but nice)
I see you many days, but do not know your name
It's Sylvie
His face brightens at this news at well
And I am just happy to be making him happy
However that is possibly happening
If he could just keep smiling…
He tells me about a job he used to have
And there was a boat or a boss
I'm unsure of which
Named Sylvia
All the while with that disarming break of
Teeth and crinkles on face
And then he tells me his name,
Kassim

And In the following days
A slow, quiet, smiling friendship is forged
And I am very grateful for the softening effect
On the hard-edged loneliness I had been cultivating

Zanzibar
31May 2008
Dar Es Salaam Airport, Having left Zanzibar

It's all those beautiful boys
Lean and dark and hopeful
The one in the very back left corner
Of Form 1B English
I would look at him
And see the hope before he stood
I knew he wanted to try to answer
Quick eye-contact, a question
And with my encouraging nod
He would stand tall and teenaged
And his still-white teeth would break
Brilliantly across his face
Unbridled hope
In shy, faltering English he would answer
And I'm scared because he wears
His hope too openly
I'm scared because he's vulnerable
And scared because surely he will
Learn one day to conceal his hope
In the same instant it reaches his
Mouth, his eyes
Like all the boys five years older
Have learned
He answers incorrectly
I tell him, gently
And the smile falls away
But the soft hope still sits in his eyes

It's the three little girls on the beach
In Uroa
Sophia, Aisha and Amina
And how they would shout and cheer
Whenever they saw me
Sophia! Sophia! They'd chant
Confused and happily thinking my name
The same as one of theirs
We'd draw pictures in the sand
Play really girly catch with a tennis ball
While the little boys laughed at us
And I would think about how I've only
Met men and children in Zanzibar
Because the women stay home or don't
Know English
Or don't like white people or
Are too shy
Or are oppressed and unhappy
And I worry for these little girls
Full of personality and bravery
Too young for insecurity
Or oppression
I worry that when they reach puberty
And exchange their ragged little dresses
For long shapeless cloths that cover
Them head to toe
They will unknowlingly be exchanging
Their lively spirits for something more
Drab as well
But for now we can run on the beach
And laugh
And understand each other
Today they are just like me
But better

It's the feeling of the little monkey's
Fingers on my shoulder
They are tiny and dexterious
And a little bit rubbery
Like the pads on a cat's foot, but damp
It's that and curving through
The jet black streets of Stone Town
Ends of cigarettes glowing from faces
That blend away into the night
Candles burning from wooden tables
Selling small, useful items
It's swimming with a dolphin
And her child
In the open sea as it glints turquoise
Green
The way the dolphins turn their heads
To look back at me and smile saying
Are you keeping up girl?
It's the pleasant surprise that my breath
Can be taken away by the grace of an animal.

Really Late Updates & Some Creative Writing

I don't know if anyone still checks this, but I wanted to post a little more writing from the Zanzibar days. I apologize for falling off the map toward the end of my trip. The entire island lost electricty for the last couple of weeks I was there. And when I had connections they were so slow. :)

I am back in Seattle. I have been here for nearly three months. I am adjusting. A large portion of myself remains in Africa.

I will start with a poem I wrote about a trip to Uganda.

Room for Ronnie and the Baby Bird
He kicks the football with the young boys
And I watch him from behind my sunglasses
Slight and athletic
And shiny black
His dreads tied back in a ponytail
He laughs with the kids
And they are all so beautiful
And coordinated
The sound is of the ball on bare feet
The smell is mild and grassy
And sweaty
I walk inside and when I return
He is under the tree
A baby bird in his hands
It fell
It only has one eye

You shouldn’t touch it
I tell him
It’s mom will smell you and not take it back
I worry about the bird
He hands it to me
And the little thing stops squaking
He seems to have fallen asleep I tell him
Where is his mom I ask
Ronnie shrugs
He’s going to die
I say
He’s not going to die
Ronnie tells me
Slipping his arm
Lightly along my waist
Smiling away from me

When the car
Comes to take us to the airport
I hand the bird to the taller, gentler boy
Take care of my bird Amos
He is fragile
He nods solemnly
And I pile into the car with Samantha
Ronnie and Kevin

At the airport our goodbyes
Are rushed
And Ronnie might cry
My heart sits enlarged in my throat
Swollen with the tall, gentler boy
Ronnie and the baby bird
I am leaving them in Uganda.

6 April 2008-- Thoughts in Zanzibar
I.
He always feeds the cats under the table
While he eats
This is one reason I mostly trust him
He picks some meat from the bones
Swiftly, with long narrow fingers
Against fragile fish ribs
And drops some flesh to the floor
I always smile as he does this
I can't help it
And his eyes meet my eyes
And he half-laughs
What? Nini?
Nothing, Sikitu I tell him
The cats are too skinny I murmur
Stroking one along his spiny back
Fingers and ribs
He nods and they continue their meal.

II.
The clouds are all stacked up
One on top of another
Each defined so neatly
Like those skinny layered rocks…
They are building a canyon
Up and out of the sky
Like there is something better up there


When the women walk up
From the water and past me
Their shapes and colors are framed
Lovely and vibrant
By the blue and grey and white
Of clouds and sky
And from where I lie on the sand
They are big and strong and proud
With baskets on their heads
Filled with useful things from the sea

And I am a little afraid of them
But I love them
Even though I can tell they are
Talking about me in Swahili

I wish I could take a photo
Of the women and their sky
Only to capture their beauty
But I know they are already
Indignant about my bikini
So I will just have to remember
And maybe try to write
A little more vividly and often

III.
One woman comes and stands over me, glaring
In Swahili she tells me to cover myself
She motions to the piece of cloth I lay on
She motions to my body
And I understand her well
With out the language
I nod that I understand
But do not move to cover myself
I cover myself in the village
Hot and dripping water
Beneath a shawl wrapped at my neck
But I live right off of this beach
And today is Sunday and hot
And I'm planning to swim
And at the moment I am tired
Of what it means to be a woman in Zanzibar

IV.
There are crabs underneath the sand
When they come out of their holes
They scuttle sand white and camouflaged
Quickly and sideways
I kind of hate them
But would really hate them
If they ran at me instead of away
They are more afraid of me than I am of them
I remind myself
But I have always hated knowing
There is something underneath
The surface
Moving and breathing and living
I have always hated
Things under things

At night it is so dark on the beach
And they are braver about leaving home
When Khalid shines the blue beam
From his lighter
To the sand
It is suddenly moving
And they race for their
Perfect round holes
Every once in awhile we see a hole
That is too big
And I shudder
Do you want to see him? Khalid asks me
I shake my head no
But he is already shining the
Blue light in the too-big hole
Sure enough the crab is home
Crouching he freezes at the light
He is huge and blending white into the sand
We keep walking
And I try to ignore the scratching
Of crab feet on sand

V.
One day I walk on the beach
Past the school
And the children have the crabs on strings
Leashed, the creatures moved
Less frantically
And my mind is eased
I have to appreciate the resourcefulness
Of the children
Creating their own playthings
They clearly do not fear the crabs
And I cannot help but laugh as they walk their
Pets on the beach

I like this lighter side of the crab situation

14 April 2008
The Front Porch of my Bungalow
Uroa Village, Zanzibar

Ernest Hemingway was also terrified of snakes
I learn this, happily, while crammed into a dala dala
Breathing dust and fumes and human sweat
Along with the 20 something other passengers
We hit an especially rough patch of road
And my book bounces bounces bounces too hard and too fast
So I'm reading the same sentence too many times
I lower the book to wait out the jolting
And check the faces around me
There is always much resignation riding the faces of a dala dala
It didn't take me long to understand it
It didn't take me long to learn it
But the learning it and taking it as mine part
Bothered me just enough that I have taken to burying myself
In books
The sweet escape I learned as a child
But haven't visited with such fervor for too many years
I can thank Africa for rekindling my love affair
With the written word

But at the moment the book is in my lap, dusty
And I am present in the bouncing dala dala
We all stare at each other
There is not much choice as we sit knee to knee
Hip to hip
Shoulder to shoulder and face to face
I get extra stares at my skin
The faces are usually hard but indifferent
I find myself practicing my indifference here too
Too many smiles and you're just a naïve bleeding heart white
Too many frowns and you are a spoiled rich one
Who doesn't like other people's sweat on her clothes
I try to keep my face neutral and my heart soft
I try to keep it soft but not stupid
Hearts are tricky and sometimes they harden
And sometimes they break

I sigh because other people's resignation
Makes me tired
I sigh because no matter how practiced my indifference
My face will always be white
I sigh because some part of me wants to be
Clinking ice cubes into a tumbler for an afternoon gimlet
Like Hemmingway's wife is doing
Inside my book
Go take your bath, darling, I'm going to have a gimlet
The afternoon cocktail indifference is practiced too though, isn't it


Then there is the other part of me:
There is the part of me that wants to take the dirty red and hard sky blue
The hot pulsing gold and damp living green of Africa into my bones
And make it my own truth
The same part of me knows that with the colors comes the
Thick black night only sometimes punctured by trillions of stars
And even then heavy and canvass and greater than we can hope to be
Even all of us together

My bones are greedy but my stomach revolts

I knew I couldn't come to Africa and not see a snake
Khalid says there are lots of crocodiles in Stone Town
And while he means people and bad hearts frighten me plenty
I remain most petrified by literal belly sliding snakes

Before I left Seattle I refused to acknowledge the reality
That I would see a snake while in Africa
Because I know my saddest and most severe limitations all too well
And I needed to do this

There was a small black snake weaving its way across
The white sand of the garden where I live
We were with out electricity and I'm lucky I didn't step on it
Khalid flashed the blue beam of his lighter to the ground
And excited he said
Look!
Utter confusion and panic entered my brain and body and I didn't know
Where to run
While I stood paralyzed I was half aware of Khalid and another man
Stomping the thing and tossing it into the bushes
When I could speak I asked
Is it poisonous?
Ndyio, Khalid nodded, smiling

And then there was the matter of the dead scorpion
On my bathroom floor
I think it crawled up from the shower drain Khalid told me
This seems plausible but will not help me sleep tonight
Don't worry, it's dead
He is clearly and entirely unfazed
It's the ones who are alive and in my bed I am worried about I tell him
He just laughs
Have you ever been stung by one? I ask
He shakes his head no
Has anyone you know ever been stung by one?
I am attempting to assess my odds for the next three point five months
He nods this time
My grandmother
What happened to her?
She was in bed for two days
But she got the root from a tree and then—better,
He shrugs it off
Somehow bush doctor remedies are not easing my mind

Anyway I digress terribly
I'm reading Green Hills of Africa by Ernest Hemmingway
It's autobiographical and mostly about hunting big game
I can't imagine much I'd hate more than shooting a living thing
But Hemingway can write
And when he quotes the simple Swahili words I've learned
I like it
And he was terrified of snakes as he trampled through
The African bush
So I guess you could say I'm just enjoying his company

I'm not going to reconcile my relationship with Africa tonight
But this is an update
I am here in Zanzibar
It is beautiful, it is lonely, it is hard
I've stopped making any promises
And though I am not always so happy
I am getting along better with myself than I have for a long time.


Ok, I have like five more pieces to post, but I'm gonna break em up. :) x