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Showing posts from November, 2011


Drinking Fanta in
Mtandire and driving
through Mchesi at
dusk, I was happy.

Forgot the world, the
darkness, and watched
the sun set over
Malawi, purple bloom
jacaranda trees, and
the fullness of  life.


People chew sugarcane
in the afternoon sun,
cook over open fire,
pump water from deep
wells and balance great
sacks of rice, beans and
maize meal atop their
heads. They carry feathered
hens home for dinner, peel
potatoes along the roadside
and ride slowly on bicycles
rushing nowhere.

They cry mzungu
as I pass. Young ones
come running, covered
in red dust and tattered
clothes, dusty party dresses
and old shoes. We are all
the same, mzungu,
walking these streets
how can there be a
difference? How
can they know, I
know, where it lies?
We are all the same,
mzungu, you and me, but
I will never sleep
in Mtandire or Chinsapo.
I will go home and you
will not visit me there.

You will not
photograph my sad
 eyes or wide smile,
my small house,
my home.

*mzungu is a word used across Africa meaning "white person"

sour mangoes

Eating sour mango in the sun
we talk about money, children
the things of life.

A mama tells me that in
Malawi children come first
as long as there is food
on the table.

They play, dusty beside us,
sour mango juice on
my fingers and swatting
flies from my side.

Here, yes, life is
simpler, these things
like children and food,
a roof overhead, the
only worries. God
will provide the rest.