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.