9/8 05 Kazo

-
Grandmother is always sitting in the same spot.
She does not want a fence along the road.
Grandfather suggested it out of love,
so she would get peace,
but she wants to shout at everybody who pass on the road.
Grandfather is a small man without many words
he keeps quiet and takes a drink on the way home.
She talks all day.

The eyes smile when I come to visit.
We don't talk together,
because I can only greet her.
She continues talking in a language I will never know.
In between she mentions my Wife's name
and laughs very loud.
Her whole body moves in excitement
finally she points in one direction to show me
my Wife.

Her Grandchild is sitting aside on the Veranda
smiling as only big love can.
Her eyes concentrate
all the moral pride
that runs from her heart.
I know
what it means.
She is silent as Grandfather's steps around the corner.
I have to know what she feels.
Her eyes will never reveal her mind.

Only Equator's sun can make you so beautiful.
It must be the reason for her black shine under my breath
The sun has melted
under the skin on black flesh
fried on the fire from a white man's fly.

Her eyes is waiting for mine.
We know what the waves do
we believe the sweat
we exchanges at night
will link us forever.
We move slowly
as if we know our direction.
There is a lot more
between us
than we will ever find.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Bazungus in Kampala

-
For a decade or so I have been coming and going to Kampala - a truly African City as close to the heart of Africa as you will ever get. That was probably what also the British were thinking when they build the railroad from the coast of Mombasa all the way to the border of Congo. During my time in Kampala (a place that I can sincerely say that I love) I have thought about being a white man among black men and women. Although I never seem to come up with good conclusions or answers, then it has given me ever lasting joy. I have always tried to be one of the crowd. Maybe not the most obvious ambition. My gratitude for the way I have been treated has always been tremendous. I have very rarely, if ever, been in a place, where people around me treated me with so much kindness, hospitality and respect as in Kampala. This is one of the many reasons why I call Uganda my African home. Recently I have come across Nada Andersen via Facebook. She is worried about the relationship between Ug
Read more

Africa does not exist

-
Image
Jeg er blevet mere og mere træt af betegnelsen Afrika. Ikke alene er det en stærkt generaliserende betegnelse for et stort geografisk område, men anvendelsen af Afrika virker også stigmatiserende. Måske burde vi derfor tænke os mere om, når vi bruger ordet. The notion of Africa is getting more and more on my nerves. There is something problemtic about how we in the western world perceive places on the African continent and the people who live there. I have just finished reading the novel "Il faut beaucoup aimer les hommes" (One must care much for men) written by Marie Darrieussecq. The male character Kouhouesso, a man from Congo, says "Africa does not exist". It is his response to his French lover Solange, when she declares that she wants to go to Africa. She insists and "he laughed his perculiar and sharp laughter, which sounded like he had borrowed it from another body". Thereafter he continues: "Africa is a fiction created by anthropoligists. T
Read more

26/3 07 The Library (cont)

-
To my newer readers I shall provide a short summary. I have not yet approached you with this story. To my older readers I apologise for this repetion. Although even in a short compressed version there might be additional knowledge due to the power of words. What we usually call the cracks of language. The summary will squeeze hidden experience by sucking these small and thiny pockets. In Tanzania I met a man working for the Danish Foreign Ministry. At the time I was wondering why these state advisors seem so much more reasonable and sincere than all the NGO people who are supposed to be critical and progressive but are not. I began to queston the intention of my NGO employer. I never knew his name and we did not meet again. We only shared dinner one evening. He spoke to me and I to him. When he learnt that I was going to Kampala he felt the urge to tell about a book telling the colonial history of East Africa. He could not remember the exact title or even the name of the author. He sup
Read more

Tanzania I - Swahili man

-
I have been in Tanzania for the Busara Festival in Zanzibar. Therefor I am telling you what I see, but I will show no pictures, because they would not make you see what I see, not that I see something extraordinary, but I see what I see and you have your own eyes. The festival is over and have taken to boat til Pemba Island. A place I have wanted to go for more than 10 years. Jeg er nået til Chake Chake på Pemba Island. Byen er øens hovedstad, selvom det ikke lige er det indtryk man får. Jeg indlogerer mig lidt nord for byen på Hamisa Village Hotel. Det er under konstruktion, og det har det været i 4 år, så hvis du kommer dertil i løbet af den næste 5-10 år er de måske færdige. Det består af en samling af små huse med to værelser i hver med egen indgang. Den ene af de aftener, hvor jeg er der, er der også ankommet en velpolstret mand i sin Landrover. Han står lænet op ad sin bil i bar overkrop mens han ivrigt taler i telefon. Da kan synes tralvt optaget af sin samtale hilser jeg
Read more

Meeting Uganda and "the other"

-
Image
Performance of poetry and narrative with reflexions about meeting the ‘other’; what does not make immedeate make any sense, and how it crushed my previous world view and riped every imagination of belonging into pieces. Jeg forstår ikke de signaler      som bæres på snefnug      der daler fra himlen      eller haglslags rids      i huden Langt bedre forstår jeg      troperegnens korporlige      sjaskvåde kys på kroppen      og solens ubarmhjertige      angreb ved Ækvator Geografisk placering      tjener ikke som forklaring Mine gerninger      har deres eget liv      hinsides godt og ondt (Vinterdrømme, 2014) For 15 år siden rejste jeg til et sted, jeg ikke tidligere havde ønsket at tage til, nogensinde drømt om at skulle besøge og heller ikke vidste særlig meget om. Med frygt for at komme til at lyde som en klon af Tørk Haxthausen, indrømmer jeg, at det har taget mig lang tid at blive i stand til at tale om det jeg mødte.   Tørk Haxthaus
Read more