Turning Lager into Water

As I sat interpreting the life of this man and his son, I sipped on the cold beer that I had just purchased at the dilapidated stand in what posed as a village square. A beautiful old hotel was the backdrop for my setting, but it had been abandoned long ago. It seemed just like so many other  aspects of Mozambique. All forgotten to the world.

The cold amber liquid poured down my hot throat, quenching the fire that simmered there. The beer was a luxury that I had allowed myself on this scorching day, as we lazed beside the ocean. I sipped at it, then returned to the writing in my journal. A shadow fell across the beach in front of me and I looked up to spy the man that was gracing the pages of my writing again. He had returned from delivering the fish we had offered him home. Now his gestures told me of another want. He had a thirst as well. I handed him the bottle expecting him to take a long pull at the contents. I was mistaken.

I sat up, perturbed at his retreating figure. He had walked away! He had taken my almost full beer and departed.   I had been willing to share, but still wanted more of the lager that had only begun to quench my thirst. With a sigh, I acquiesced that perhaps it was a luxury that he needed more. Something that he did not often get a chance to afford or enjoy. I chalked it down to a lesson learned that in this land, perhaps when you gave something to someone they kept it until they have had enough, then they too pass it on. Different lands hold different cultures.

Before I had a chance to think much beyond the incidence that had just occurred, I spied the man coming back again. To my surprise and delight, he carried with him a pail of water. It was a pail of fresh, clean drinkable water. He was returning the favor that I had offered to him, unbeknownst to myself. One good turn deserves another. As we were not camping in anything akin to a formal campground, we had to walk down to the village square to get our water at a communal tap like anyone else. It was a good sized walk and alien activity to our foreign ways. This man’s gift of water was worth much more than the humble beer that I had shared with him. My soul was uplifted by his simple act of sharing and kindness that I had not expected. I felt small in his presence of generousity, but awed by the beauty of it. Here was a spirit of sharing and community. Items were freely shared amongst the people and it was an understood thing amongst everyone. The beauty of Mozambique lifted to the top of my destinations in this simple, yet unforgettable moment. I was in love.

Painfully Painted Strangers

Painfully painted strangers

dance

with hollow laughs 

and guttural grinding of bones

that slake the eternal 

thirst for touch

It hurts

this razor burn

on a fading heart

certain of tears

that fall

on yesterday's hope.

I cannot turn away

from me

and need

that galls my mind

with shame

for a weak soul.

lost;

I am lost

without anchor

or rudder 

to push 

towards solid ground.

All I can do

is hope

that will holds

perhaps one day 

over craving

eyes, hands, soul

The Eyes of a Nation

With Brett walking, talking and breathing freely again, we had done some cursory investigations of the city of Maputo.  It lay heavy on my soul though. Maputo’s fall from grace  seemed to have left all of its inhabitants affected, including myself. I begged for a change in scenery. I felt somehow scarred by the visions of children living in such abject poverty. My station in life left me above the reminders of civil war, disease and destitution that seemed to be everywhere. I could not take it anymore and we all agreed to move on. The sad eyes watched us leave the capital city and remained in my mind’s eye for many days to come. I felt hopeless and needed to cleanse myself from the sorry state that I likened Mozambique to be in. Pushing off, we hugged the coast and battled the currents North.

We chugged into Xai Xai and set up our tents. The Indian Ocean was large as life beside us and we relaxed some to be out of the city. Little markets were plentiful with women dressed in traditional sarongs sitting behind piles of bananas and little tomatoes. A bar graced our campground that we stayed at and I managed to chat over a beer with a woman who had recently emigrated from Namibia. She found it too quiet for her liking in Xai Xai and wished for more excitement. I far preferred it to our last stop in Maputo, but understood her need for something to do. The children’s smiles bloomed large on all the little faces we saw. While I could not forget, I managed to let go of some of the horrors of Maputo and began to enjoy Mozambique and its beauty.

We spent a few nights in Xai Xai, then moved on to Praia de Tofo. Here is where the blues of the ocean in front of me stole my heart. The pure white sand beach beckoned to me and I could not resist. I battled the scorching heat coming from the silky sands to plunge into the salty waters. It was heavenly to gently paddle in the warm waves that ebbed in and out. While it was too hot to sit in the direct sunlight, I did lay my towel down to soak up the pristine beauty of Mozambique’s coastline. I wondered how there could be so much suffering in such a beautiful place. Was it the heat that made people’s demeanours turn hostile? Did my colder clime make the people more prone to huddle together  and therefore more temperate in nature?

My musings were interrupted by the appearance of a boy in front of me. He said nothing, but followed my movements with his eyes. He appeared tiny, but his eyes seemed huge. They held all that Mozambique was. I could not resist and snapped a picture of him. His silence reminded me that I did not know his language or experiences, but he was beautiful none-the-less. We did not live in the same world, but could inhabit the same moment.

The child’s father materialized and smiled shyly at us as well. While English was not his first language, we managed to understand from him that his son was four years old. Miki and I  gave them some barracuda that we had dined on the night before and their appreciation was evident. I tried not to stare, but could not get over the size of the boy. We had seen children in Xai Xai that had claimed to be between 12 and 16. To me they had looked more like between 6 and 12. I pondered  again on what it was that formed these people the way they were. Did lack of vitamins and proper nutrition stunt the children’s growth so much or did the atmosphere of war factor in as well? I was supposing and questioning, but could not truly know the answers. I had not lived here, breathed here or grown up here. I could only guess at their lives paths. I don’t know if I really wanted to know the answers.

Fire in the Sky

Fire in the sky!

Seen by little eye

see it burning high

oh my!

Wisps of silken flame.

Distracted, them to blame.

A cool heat they can claim 

just the same.

Roadside pictures sought

lest their vision be wrought

undone with naught,

but memories got.

Sweet child to see the sight

in mornings light

of visions bright.

Ah, my heart swells tight.

~

Life

through a child's

eyes.

Sorry Brian, but you will have to wait another day for your trip to the dark heart of Africa. I had to make a stop at OneShot today. 

Tickled Tuesday

While I have not been a regular contributor over at Jingle's poet's rally for the last little while, I was pretty religious about trying to scrape together some bit of prose on Thursdays for her. She has a wonderful assembly of poets that are willing to link up to her rally on a weekly basis and I applaud them all for all their hard  creative work, plus visiting the prescribed number of poets that Jingle suggests every week. I do love the community that she has helped to foster and admire many of the artists she has found. With all the talent that she has visiting her on a weekly basis, I was surprised and honoured to have a visit from her this week announcing that she was offering me another award. I will post the other awards on my award page, but I thought I would highlight this Your Blog Is Grand Award. Thanks again Jingle. You are very kind.

Also to my surprise and delight, I received this beautiful Pink award from Mairmusic. I am not going to do a whole nother post for this beautiful pink award (see here for my recent acceptance speech), but I did want to say a BIG thank you to Marilynn over at Celebrating a Year. She writes divine poetry that is always just beautiful. I also recently discovered that she is a musician and listened to some of her music on her Myspace page. She plays Classical and Brazilian music on mandolin and bandolim. Very cool stuff that is worth a listen! Click here for a sample of some of her beautiful pieces. 

As for me, there is not much to say today. I worked hard painting all day (hardly! HA!), then got invited for dinner for my efforts. The girls and I enjoyed some tasty vittles and wonderful company with dear N, D and E. They are now abed and I believe fell asleep instantly after a busy day of water play at daycare. I think that I shall be following rather shortly. My allergies have begun for the season and they are draining me of all my super-powers. Accepting these beautiful ladies' awards has taken it all out of me. Perhaps I will work on another installment of my African tale for you lovely people, as it seems to be popular around these parts. Bless you all and thank you for all the hugs you offer!!! MMWWAAAHHHHH!!!!!!!