that's teranga for you.
my outfit for the next week
This is where I wrote a postcard to my sister
Dear Janette:
How nice is it to look back on your childhood and say you and your friends would go into the jungle to build fires and shake mango trees and cool their fruit under a waterfall? We spent spring break with these kids who ran their own hospitality industry – these little naked things running at full speed with armfuls of mangoes whenever we talked about being hungry. They’d swim, poorly, all day like that, clothes in rainbows on the ground. The girls swam fully clothed in long dresses. And did I mention there were baboons?
and they made checkerboards drawn in charcoal on the square rocks and burnt wood to make the black pieces.
And Yedo's in red, this brilliant boy who met us when we got us off the bus and led us to a waterfall, the top of a mountain, a tiny village, a batcave, a mango tree, spaghetti in a hut by firelight, the oldest woman in dindefelo, breakfast, lunch. and he never asked us for anything except our phone numbers.
and these men in this hut were waiting for us at the top of the mountain, because the prize for climbing is this magic tea that lets you run and jump up rocks in the burning heat.
this batcave leads to other places. you know, like guinea and stuff.
and these little trickling rocks are the source of everything
magic water, swear
when we got there, mangoes cost a nickel each, and then they let us eat us many as we could shake from the tree
taking our time coming down while our little brothers ran up and down the rocks at full speed
our brilliant guides command the smaller children while reclining on these rocks
and goats were everywhere I went. goin' to throw mango skins out. a goat jumps out of the trash can. goin' to go pee. a goat jumps out of the bathroom stall.
super scandalous reading material attracts an audience. i even gave it to them to flip through at their own pace. please try to ignore my face.
We ate spaghetti in a hut by firelight. Look at all these stars. When the car broke down three miles outside the village, we laid on our backs on the dirt road and confirmed at least 7 shooting star sightings. I twirled dusty pebbles between my fingers.
My bones feel out of place.
... And the window looked like a bumpy TV screen that only played the sky. Foreign headlights flashed yellow frames in the car interior.
Four days total on the road, there and back. When the car stopped we sucked on frozen plastic bags of hibiscus juice. A dime to stay alive. The driver puts his arm out the window and his hand in the air.
2 comments:
I HAVE THE SAME GAME BOY and i almost boguth the same spotted hot pink sunglasses.
THAT CIGARETTE IS FLOATING
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