Tuesday, March 1, 2011


THE FIRST ARCHIVES- A poetic journey into and through adolescence

Under a straw roof

Over a tiled floor.

Fans swirl above our heads

In attempt to lighten the air.

Lights are dimly lit.

Men surround the bar tender

Hollering orders and debating politics.

Fingers click, fingers point

A dramatic drunken gasp.

One man just proved his point.

Secrets spill,

Jokes are poured

Laughter is released.

Smoke dances to the ignored beats of Jazz

Ladies cackle almost to the rhythm

One at a time.

Time races

Lipstick stains sit on the wine glasses

Long cigarette buds dance in the lonely breeze.

- This scene describes my Aunt’s pub in Daressalaam. My Aunt is just fabulous, a true diva and enchantress. She is my mother’s dear friend and she is one of the most vibrant people you could ever meet. She is dark and petite with a semi-afro, doe-eyed with voluptuous lips. She has a loud laugh that seems to echo all day and you would think with all the ceaseless talking her lips would wear thin but they maintain their voluptuousness. That woman could make anyone laugh and would always leave you smiling and anxious to see her again. Her name is : Juliet, I call her, Auntie Juliet. If life was a stage she’d own the spotlight. This is a portion of what her life looked like one summer evening in 2004, in the city of Daressalaam.