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
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