She's not African

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Her color turns me on. As I watch her, I can see that she is not Kenyan. She must be American. In the beginning I was not sure. After a longer while looking at her she could ever be Danish. Only that she is black - but we also have become more colorful.

It is her body. The ways she moves. Her eyes. The face. She is herself. Nothing is missing in her life. It is only the small boy being teased by his mom that will make her smile.

Thinking about color make me crazy. It is an empty box. I am flying off the road. There will be women everywhere that throw themselves at you, if they want something.

In am going in circles. Recently Nairobi seems to form the same circle every time I am here. The first couple of days I am asking myself, why I didn't stay home or went somewhere else. Later as I travel around in Kenya I cease to think, because I find different kind of entertainment. When I towards the end return to Nairobi I am relieved, but as soon as I arrive I become depressed. Not sure, if it is because I am going to leave Africa or other disappointments.

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