A Drop of Ink

To the Boys and Men who... I have wronged, I cannot understand what makes you think it is okay to ask me on the street to marry you or to be your girlfriend. Or to follow me in your car, turning circles just to see me and holler vulgarities I can't understand. Or to follow me in the market and touch me. I wish I could. I honestly wish I knew what was going through your head – what twisted train of thought or painful series of events led you to allow those questions to exit your mouth, to allow your hands those actions. Maybe you are a product of your culture and up-bringing and maybe you don't know any better... or maybe you do and you've just had a few too many drinks. Are you lonely? That, I can understand. And it may be that you have never known how to behave towards women, you have never had an example of a gentleman in your life. I'll wager the reason for your behavior is more complicated than even you know or are able to explain. But I want to tell you that ...

Hot coals from a fire long gone are good company and comfort for cold feet. Toes dig into the warm sand-ash mixture. Tired legs stretch out in rest. Arms are folded across torso as a simple, lazy sort of armor against a mild wind. Head is tilted back in star-gazing posture.  Slow, even breaths coming from nearby tents serve as a gentle reminder, promptly ignored, that sleep may well be overdue. Surrounded by a darkness only possible far from man-made light, one would be willing to suffer the weary morning consequences just to gaze in wonder a while longer at the infinite ceiling above and its multitude of seemingly tiny lights hanging in space. Whispers are in order on such gentle, peaceful nights as these or, almost preferably, silence. Silence to take in the quiet mystery of the multitudes overhead, not shrouded by cloud or storm. Silence to listen to their symphony of light, boldly proclaiming their presence.  Silence to think backwards and forwards, to wonder and que...

Dear Stranger at the traffic light, It was an absolute delight to watch your face transform from that expression we wear in public, to mask who we are, to fit in to the teeming crowds of nondescript people, to one of the broadest grins I have ever seen. I like to think I know why you smiled. You saw me eye the little red man, glance at the oncoming traffic and pedal on anyway. I utterly violated a minor law in a major system. A system of rules and regulations – order. Perhaps you wished you had too. Perhaps the system is as foreign to you as it is to me. Perhaps, you, too, believe a little chaos is good for the soul. I took your smile as a sign of approval of my misdemeanor. In the moment of my rebellion, when our eyes met, and my smile reflected yours, I was glad of your existence. I was glad you let me see you. I would like to thank you for the smile we shared. Yours,   Rebel 29/04/17

Sometimes, when I close my eyes and let the noise and worry of here and now fade away, I can feel the warm salty wind blowing and the wheels of our Opel Classic turning, racing along that highway. I hear the laughter of good friends, new and old, chattering or singing along to some song. One hand on the warm steering wheel and one dancing in the wind, I delight in the splendor of the moment, a smile welling up in me. I see the desert, awash in the light of the setting sun and the road, running away from underneath us. We stop to watch the last rays disappear beyond the horizon. We stop for sweet mint tea. Did we stop to realize how wonderful it was to exist in that moment? I am caught up in absolute contentment, wrapped in the arms of companionship and wonder of simple beauty. And sometimes, the vision is different. We are still racing, but on the sweet water of the lake, hot African sun pouring down on us, not oppressive, just very much there . I reach down into the water; i...