ANA AND THE MARKETPLACE

In between, all this time, there was the city of Mbale.

And the market place.

The marketplace where Ana searched and found the best Calvin Klein shirts on earth for twenty cents. The best Liz Claiborne, best name this side of the valley. The best dried fish wholesale, best groundnut paste and sesame, best cloth. Dainty white hands touched the greenish silver of antelope home-made from Zambia, a tingling sensation, smooth fingers lingering over merikkani cloth of Zanzibar, maybe the yellow lions of Kenya touched on a coffee cup. Blue eyes delighted in the raised texture of gold trim surrounding cloth of indigo. Protection cloth, she was told, for the young girls who did not know "what to do with themselves". She was told, the best plastic colanders ever made from China. Sculptured airplanes out of tin, oil can into airplane lamp, the best she had seen engineered and thought out so far. Exquisite sense of gadgetry, the tiny, the large, wear ever forever in there for the flow of their lives.

Blue Black David and the not quite so white sun browned Woman from the south

In the blue of the bathroom light she examines her face in the mirror. Reaching for a glass of water from the clay jug by the sink, she walks to the window and peeks through the wooden louvers, her eyes trying to adjust to the still darkness outside.  No, there is no one there.  A new moon, it must be.

Rambling thoughts skimming, her vision uncomfortably blurry, the birds not yet started. Each day a new bird, some winged creature she had never seen before - toukans, yellow weavers, togrons, egrets.  Rivulets of the ravages of another bad night and too much gin.  "This place is getting to me.  Why am I so lonely?"
But she sees something outside.
Strange.  It is not real. A dark, tall figure in a long green cape, something ready, some danger at the middle of his body, something scary in the pointed hood, on top of his head. 

David, the night guard!  Perched on the stonewall, gingerly, he balances himself, left arm extended straight forward, right elbow bent back, bow fully and dangerously poised, arrow pointed and ready. 
“Is he going to shoot?”   She looks across the yard, the thumping in her heart, the fear.

Like an avenging blue black angel and most certainly very drunk he staggers across in full magic take, dance steps one – two and mock shooting his arrow at imaginary targets.   There is nothing there!  

First to right, one!  Shoot the top of the tall corn stalks not yet ready for harvest. 

Then to the left, two! Shoot the black beans slightly lower. 
Straight up! Three - shoot through the dark azure, not yet morning skies – a hint of constellation madness in his bucktoothed grin.

Ana and the marketplace

In between, all this time, there was the city of Mbale.

And the market place.

The marketplace where Ana searched and found the best Calvin Klein shirts on earth for twenty cents. The best Liz Claiborne, best name this side of the valley. The best dried fish wholesale, best groundnut paste and sesame, best cloth. Dainty white hands touched the greenish silver of antelope home-made from Zambia, a tingling sensation, smooth fingers lingering over merikkani cloth of Zanzibar, maybe the yellow lions of Kenya touched on a coffee cup. Blue eyes delighted in the raised texture of gold trim surrounding cloth of indigo. Protection cloth, she was told, for the young girls who did not know "what to do with themselves". She was told, the best plastic colanders ever made from China. Sculptured airplanes out of tin, oil can into airplane lamp, the best she had seen engineered and thought out so far. Exquisite sense of gadgetry, the tiny, the large, wear ever forever in there for the flow of their lives.

The beasts of my travels

Real beasts of Swaziland
Back in the nineties and for almost two years, the Mkhaya Nature Preserve, near Mbabane, capital of the Kingdom of Swaziland was my favorite weekend destination. I kept the postcard as a reminder of the Park's great beauty. It is a small preserve founded and run by the Reilly family and by Swazis and it has helped to save white and black rhinos from extinction.  The young boy, I believe, is Ted Reilly. The caption reads  "Forgot the gun".  In reality white rhinos are quite peaceful, not to say the same for black rhinos.

Imaginary beasts at the Passarada farm

Wild cat or ant eater? Passarada farm, Piracaia, Sao Paulo, Brazil, January 1st, 2010

Eve and the Beasts in Paradise
Mark Twain in Eve's Diaries, illustrations by Lester Ralph, free and printable book, part of the Project Gutenberg.

Eve muses: "I couldn't get back home; it was too far and turning cold; but I found some tigers and nestled in among them and was most adorably comfortable, and their breath was sweet and pleasant, because they live on strawberries. I had never seen a tiger before, but I knew them in a minute by the stripes. If I could have one of those skins, it would make a lovely gown."