(An Arusha Story)
I’m deep in the music, lost in the sound,
foot beating the time, fingers playing the strings,
that sing their soft song of f sharp to d,
the notes in between, that lingering e,
then came a shriek, then the screams, a quick rush of feet,
beneath the blue sky, through the green of the trees,
then a silence as loud as a lioness’ roar,
that froze my fingers right on the edge,
heart pounding, just listening, to shouts, to loud moans,
the running of feet, the noise of a crowd,
then me running too, from door to the gate,
to that scatter of rags that lay on the road,
where we gathered in awe of the presence of death;
‘mangoes, that’s what she sold,’
‘she was so old, and so poor,’
‘the car came haraka,’
‘he came at her fast, and disappeared quick,’
‘thrown high in the air.
‘like a leaf on the wind,”
“pole sana, so sorry’
“sikitika,”so sad,’
“vipi, dada? Unasaema?”
‘what’s up sister, you say what,’
“ay mbali sana,, ay very bad.’
‘hey what’s up with her brother?’
“just dead, man, ala, this old Maasai,
‘twende, let’s go, look, forget it my brother,
‘life is too short and we gotta go,”
so they left, the crying, the wailing,
the blood pooled at our feet,
as women pushed past me, then the police,
all dressed in white and very polite,
then we all turned away, to carry on life,
without gods, a purpose,
to face out own fate.
One Voyce of the World 