painted air

The only woman at the table. Losing my sense of foreign-ness, mzungu existence-- still from another world, suddenly feeling exposed as my new identity comes under the spotlight.

Yes, I am a woman. Yes, I will speak. I will sit here under the dark sky with you. I will consider the world and the small moments after midnight, I will breathe the settling dust and fumes from the business of daylight.

Mombasa deserted. Fires on the corners, tuktuk radios sing, hang on the door with Bwana, three men on a concrete bench, petrol station a taxi rank, old man sitting still in the shady doorway, friends speak through dark quietness.

To my room. It still smells of new paint. And the windows are wide open. I close the slats. How to uninvite the flying devils about to feast on my legs. Lie on my back, shoulders are red and stiff. Trip to the bathroom confirms the diagnosis, sunburn. Unpadlock my room, back to staring at the fan.

Fifteen minutes of emptiness, my self slowly expanding, feeling out the space, surprised still that it can spread and not meet anything. Keeps going, almost to the walls, but stops, hangs there, savouring the past days. So tangled, they've mixed each other's colours. Unanchored, floating up to the fan wildly swinging round, turning the painted air.

The light should be turned out. Put the cigarette outside the window. Why did he leave his cigarette in here?

And the lights go out. The thoughts, the self, float down, land, and I lie still.

not really worth it (and yet...)

Oh mon amour, comme la pomme est trop forte, toi aussi, tu souris trop puis tu pleures...et je ne peux rien dire.

yeah. whatever.

it's been one of those days, when rubbish phrases swim around my head and pretend to be meaningful. ugh.

but now it is after midnight, a new morning is sneaking in, quietly, slowly, gracefully-- no, somewhat roughly, jerkily. it seems gentler though i am still holding my judgement. i need more time.

more time? what a ridiculous thing to ask for at 1am. more time to do what? Couche-toi, ma fille. Great deeds of um, computer typing and such. A phone call perhaps.

This is the point where I wonder if this post is really worth it. Probably not.

je ne peux pas expliquer ce soir

I have been back in DC now for a week. Back from Nairobi last Monday night. I was exhausted this past week-- not just tired but trying to fit everything in my head. There are times when there are so many details, so many events and faces and voices that it seems impossible that it is all supposed to fit inside my mind. And then looking around here, where everyone has been going to the office for the last two weeks just as they would any other two weeks...how can I begin to tell a story of a far away sunny land...

But of course once I find my voice, there are listeners-- so then I wonder if it is me: if I am the one who just cannot translate the thoughts and events into words. The main problem is where to start, what to prioritise, how to sort through the huge pile of emotions and memories.

By the time the trip came to a climax, I felt so exhausted that I was in a daze. I think I was overwhelmed. I am not sure I can explain why because I have been in a couple stressful situations, travelled for longer, slept less, etc, and did not feel overwhelmed like this. It was not that the trip was particularly extreme. I think I just was overcome by a sense of heightened awareness. When you feel you are actually experiencing something in a very real way, when all the shortcuts that people traditionally rely on fall away. When you are no longer the observer in the situation but right there in the midst of the event, feeling emotions along with everyone else...even now I can't explain what I mean!

Maybe I have lost the gift of telling my story...I feel rather lost trying to make the sentences flow anyway. I will try again tomorrow. Maybe the words will weave together to tell the tale demain...j'espere...on ne sait jamais pourquoi certains mots tombent de la bouche au lieu des autres.

So now with this web of words spread all about, with others hiding in the corners of my room, I shall sleep. Maybe my dreams will explain it better to me.