it comes in text

15 may 2010

i miss your warmth, it's part of your red - your pure primary color separated from white light. your heart beating gently when i'm against your chest. the natural scent of your skin when i graze my lips from your collar bone up to the side of your neck and ear line. i miss the way you make me feel after you make a soul gasping breath, while your grip on the headboard has never seemed so tightly bound, yet your body feels weightless conforming to mine. i want to trace your hip across your belly button with tickling sensitivity, raising each invisible microfeather underneath your skin as if it was magnetic or electric, rub the softest part of my freshly shaven cheek from your inner thy to your calf while its raised in the air. loiter the whole day through loosing myself to your dreamscape, making sure i have given proper attention to every pour. the type of kiss that only promises my heart, its not a wet kiss but its pleasantly snug, a serene lullaby, leaving the skin comfortably tender. followed by a youthful whispering parting kiss acting as the tug of a coat jacket before bundling up or rather the final tightening of a ribbon after a perfectly wrapped present - because once the breeze begins to lay its blanket upon your skin its only vow to shiver the tips of the peach surface. your peach surface.

until all ribbons are tied, all buttons are buttoned, until once again i can harbor in your eyes once again. the line between our hearts can remain vague like the absolute color of the dawn, when does the sky become illuminated and to which colors there's too many to separate. we will never be chilly. and we can spend all day completely stripped of all other things that get in between two people. just us, in our purest, barest, human form. adoring one another. because that's all that really mattes, we don't need to have things in between us. silly fights, silly problems, silly things that make us get so caught up and so tightly wound, or the self perpetuating frustration that only makes the distance bigger. today i'm wearing red, because i long for your voice, your hair tie still bound to my wrist from the moment i took it from your hair. I feel you in me, everyday, when i look at the beauty in this world i always wish you're here to share it with me, and in that way you are the beauty of this world to me. and i am so lucky to have been able to explore close enough and in places i dont need glasses to see or full color vision to appreciate. the reason i like you, of many, is your capacity to love. its not an object, its not something you conquer, its not a business proposition or even logical all the time, its not mathematical, formulated or pressured because of time. its rare to meet someone like that, based solely on what i think god intended or emotion to feel. a connection based on something way more meaningful. way more underlying. sure, we share a lot in common but we're different people. and in that way its more complementing. its not there to accomplish more, but indirectly i feel together we could. its not the purpose but its definitely there. you're inspiring to me. you're more than a couple of boobs and a nice butt to me (which, i love your butt and i'm afraid i'm too much of an animal for it.) but you're more than that. and i think you're beautiful inside and out. i wish the best for you. and want the best for you. i want you to be happy and lead a very self fulfilling life. and i'm more than happy, and honored to help. your place in my heart is forever, and when i pass away, i know whatever may grow above me will resemble in essence just as much as you as it will of me. but until then, you continue to grow inside of me, vines stretching and wrapping around each of my senses, and i'm not much of a trimmer to take any of what you attached to, paired to, held to, penetrated through, next to, and cover it up. it's wonderful, and intoxicating, and its one of my favorite parts about me.

i admire your independence, strong will, and perseverance. your eager to help. and i think you are becoming one hell of a human, despite your fascination with dead baby jokes. but i have no interest in changing that, or any of your quirks. i like them all. i like the way you fight. your honesty. despite getting under my skin sometimes. you're a good fighter and i rather fight with you than another.

i'll stop blowing up your phone, it's probably getting kind of annoying by now, if in fact you're getting these texts. i hope your day is bright and you make the best of your situation, i know you dont want any of this - and i don't blame you. I know you will.

possibly a 2000 page novel on how i'd go about kissing the space where your thy meets torso. maybe i'll write you one called gardening with kisses

4 may 2010

if i cry, it's for the wrong reasons.

cus I'm happy to see my sister

cus I get to visit with my grandma

cus I hear from a friend

I don't cry

because my mom is sick

i feel nothing

if this was anyone else's mom - a friend's, a relative's, I wouldn't be able to hold back the tears

but me, my mother - and i'm a zombie.

emotionless, i sit in the hospital room as i see her face express only a fraction of the pain that must absorb her body

i'm blank.

i'm in america

my mother's sick

my brother lost his job

my sister is heartbroken

my father is pretending to be so strong

and me

i'm here

i'm simply here

physically - yes

emotionally - absent

i seek distractions

boys

music

movies

booze

so, too, enough

26 april 2010

I'm not a rich girl,

but i have enough love to fill your sky.

I am too old for games,

but too young to die.

I am so hungry to live,

but too heavy to fly,

too broken to repair,

but too happy to cry.

I have enough time to make you fall,

but not enough before we'll have to say goodbye

and through it all and all,

I hope you'll find I'm worth it enough to try.

I wanted to write something to teach my students "too" and "enough".. however I think this might be (too) personal to share.

Take two.

Okay - so I have the maturity of a 13 year old boy - which makes this so fun.

I'm sorry, but this was hilarious & made me laugh when I'd otherwise want to cry. Give it a go.

The (row boat) Lucky Lulu was sinking quickly. "Abandon ship! Everyone into the (pineapples)!" hollered Captain (Gaunt). But the crew and passengers knew there were not enough (pineapples), so they threw (sponges), (warts) and even one (hairy) (penis) overboard.......

Captain (Gaunt) ordered everyone to form a line, tie their crafts together and sing "(Touch My Body)"..

ps I'm totally going to find a way to use Mad Libs to teach my kids "too" and "enough" :)

it's hard not to fall into the rhythm of a village

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M.y I.ntriguing L.ife as F.ollows

23 april 2010

her cries are now sporadic outbursts throughout the night & day

she knows how to get down, shake her heinie and sprint into motion

she has turned my bookcase into her personal jungle gym

and my duffle bag into her private get-away

she pounces on invisible bait

and swats confusedly at her own tail

she lets the fresh-squeezed milk sit, untouched

but steals and tears into the wrapped beef-stick,

only to reject it when opened and presented in her dish

she sneaks out the door in the morning,

but returns before sunset curfew,

just in time for supper.

she picks on herself in my duct-tapped mirror

and scuffs at the slightest hint of affection

she scurries like a hunted gazelle

she bounces like a bunny in heat

and bursts like a popcorn in the fire

maybe she's no leopard child,

but rather a teenaged girl.

tonight the moon is nothing but a smile in the heavens shining down upon me

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baby leopard or just coincidence?

18 april 2010

Okay, I don't actually know what a leopard looks like, but I imagine that this little monster I brought home with me today isn't far from the real thing.

We got the call this morning. The man who found me the "kitten" (wild jungle cat is more like it) is named Simba. Ironic?

I was so excited, didn't even take time to bathe, I had to get to Musanze pronto to become a kitty mommy stat. "ndjiye kugura ipussy. ipussy ajiye kujye imbeba mu rugo wanjye" (I'm going to buy a cat. the cat will eat the rats in my house) I excitedly told my bike taxi driver. It was my first time riding with this young guy, I kept thinking "Rice-a-ronie, the San Francisco treat" to remember that his name - Francisco.

It's funny, you put me on an igare (bike) with a new driver, one I've never had before, and I can talk his ear off, in Kinyarwanda mind you, for the entire 30+ minute trip to Kidaho, the main road.

What's your name?

Do you have children?

Do you want children?

How many children do you want? (If the answer is anywhere from 0 to 3, I say "Nibgiza!" (that's good), if it's 5+ I say "ni minshi!!" - (that's too much!! ) - just my personal opinion)

How old are your children?

How old are you?

Do you have a woman? (this is usually a given if kids are involved)

What is your woman's name?

Are you a student, or a driver only?

Are you a farmer?

Do you like to swim? (I feel like this is an appropriate question being that nearly half of the ride to town offers a spectacular, mountain-side view of the lake and mountainous shoreline in the distance)

Do you like to sing?

Do you have a goat?

Do you have chickens?

Do you have a cow? (notice that a lot of my vocabulary is centered around farm animals..)

Is your cow a boy or a girl?

Does she have milk?

Do you like to drink milk?

Do you like to drink beer? (of course I know how to ask this one)

And then I give a bit of advice:

You can speak English (I don't know how to say "should" otherwise I'd advise him *bike taxi drivers are always a him* to speak English rather than telling him he can do something me most likely can not)

And, if all else fails, I like to offer up a song, the same few lines of the Kinyarwanda tunes I know, on repeat.

The fee to get from home to Kidaho is 300RWF (60 cents USD) - for Rwandans. Me, I've learned not to ask the price. If I ask the price, they'll tell me 400RWF. Generally though (oh gosh, it sounds dirty but I promise you it's not!!) my rule of thumb is - the more he sweats and the faster I get there (sweat from how late it is in the day - noon time until 3pm it's super super hot so I feel bad for making him work so hard! and speed - how quickly we get to the main road), the bigger tip I pay him. (Yikes, I promise you that's not meant to be a raunchy standard!). Anyway, I usually pay 400RWF anyway, especially if the driver and I laugh together over the language barrier, but I don't know, I guess I just like it to be up to me to decide to pay the extra, rather than being told that that's the set price - because I know it's not - just because I'm white.

So I got to Kidaho and went into the bus station (it's really just a cubby room where you buy your ticket) and the young woman behind the desk recognizes me as Umunezero and knows I'm on a mission for ipussy and she tells me that I can buy one from her for 10,000RWF ($20). I tell her that I'm going to Musanze right then and there to buy an ipussy for 7,000RWF and she insists that that's too little. Handing me my ticket and change, I get on the bus. She follows and then strikes up a debate with the three time-weathered women who've already taken their seats and tells me time and time again that a good ipussy should cost at least 8,000RWF. I think to myself, well, I could pay 8,000 (1,000 extra) for this one I'm planning to buy, but giving the man an extra $2 isn't going to make this particular kitten any better or worse. And I tell her time and time again "I'm a volunteer, I don't have a lot of money!" but my skin color speaks louder than my words so she brushes me off and returns to her post in the office.

When I finally reached town, I returned to the Kigali Safari office where I'd met Simba the day before. He shook my hand and I have to believe that he was scolding me for arriving so late. (I'm sorry, it's an hour long trip to town!!) Then he took me into the office and pointed at a tied up sack on the ground. Now this guy doesn't speak a lick of English so I did my best.

I want to see it, I tell him.

He opens the bag.

There in the bottom, curled up, terrified and distraught, was my little baby leopard.

I found him/her (still don't know) too cute to resist, and although he/she was hissing, clearly upset, I noticed that there was no foam around his/her mouth so I mentally noted that the behavior could be due to undesirable conditions (being tied up in a sack, who knows what kind of ride the kitten had that morning to get to the office, ect) rather than from rabies.

Is it sick? I ask.

No. It's a good cat, they tell me.

How many years old is it? Obviously I know it's not in the slightest even one, but I don't know how to ask in terms of months.

4 weeks, they tell me.

Talking to my dad on the phone tonight, who has loads of experience with barn cats, he tells me if it's as big as your fist, it's at least 4 weeks old - and this thing is definitely at least twice the size of my fists, so it's gotta be older than they say.

My gut tells me that I should ask the men to take the cat out of the bag to see if it's friendly, domesticated, capable of not just coexisting with a human, but of being a cuddle buddy with one as well. With the hisses still in mind though, I picture any hand that reached into the bag would come out a mess, so I decide not to. (I don't know why at this point I gave the man 7,000RWF, closing the deal, but I did). Ipussy in burlap bag in my duffle, I was out the door and on the first bus home.

("Is this a good decision?" - my friend asked last weekend while we were in Kigali. "it's your life" was the response - rings in my mind at this moment)

On the bus I opened up the sack to get a peek at my new little roomie. Two big eyes, still scared as hell looked back at me while a silent mouth imitated a hissing cry. "Is this thing mute?" I asked myself. I can confidently tell you now that no would be the answer to that question.

Bus from Musanze to Kidaho. Bumpy bike ride from Kidaho to Kagogo that left even me feeling quite shaken - imagine how that felt for a kitten in the bottom of a bag.. small hike up the muddy path and I was home.

I put down the duffle, took out the burlap bag and set it on the floor.

Not wanting to rush him/her or anything, I opened up a can of tuna, poured the juice into a bowl, set the bowl on the floor just outside of the bag, grabbed the water I'd boiled this morning before rushing out the door, now luke-warm, dumped it into a bucket with a bit of rain water and went out to my "shower" to have a "bath". Coming back in, dripping wet (I accidently left my towel out in the rain last night), I left waterful footprints on the floor as I scurried to my room - naked in front of my new guest so soon... would that be appropriate?

I felt disheartened as I went about my business seeing that the bag, nor nothing inside of it had moved since I'd set it on the floor. Eventually, I couldn't tell you exactly when, but the kitten emerged. As he/she ran nervously across my kitchen, darting into the spare bedroom, I felt certain that this thing wasn't actually the family cat kind of pet. It walked too crouched to the floor, it's tail too stiff in its trail.

It's a f'n baby leopard. I was convinced.

Isn't that clever, sell the muzungu a wild jungle cat?

Oh, those men are just cracking up back at their Kigali Safari office, aren't they?

I looked at the leopard and it hissed at me.

I took a step near and it made a sneezing noise that actually meant "you come one cm (this is Africa, remember - metric) closer and I'll claw into your face and never let go".

I was TERRIFIED!

I ran to my neighbors, this thing is a monster, I told them! It's crazy, what do I do? I can't even touch it, i can't even look at it, it's mean! It's angry!!

They came to check it out for themselves. Also afraid, they said that I needed to have the veterinarian take a look at it ASAP. (Wait a second, a veterinarian - there's one around here?? I've been asking for a couple of weeks now where the "doctor for animals" is and no one mentioned that we have one in walking distance - then again a Rwandan villager's definition of "walking distance" could be 45x my own). So they tell me that they'll talk to their dad, or I should talk to the school buser or the headmaster and have someone call the vet to come first thing Monday morning.

When I returned home after discussing this over at my neighbors house, I tip-toed into mine, scared that out of nowhere I might be jumped and torn apart by wild leopard claws.

Well, (for the sake of simplicity, I'll say that this thing is a girl) she's not where I left her...

She's not on the couch, not behind the pillows, not under the sheet on the floor.. not on my bed, not under my bed, not behind my trunk, not on the kitchen table.. and it went on and on.

She's gone.

Seeing that I'd left the kitchen window cracked open, I figured it was a realistic possibility - and in that moment, I was washed with both a sigh of relief - the monster is gone as well as a wave of panic - ohmygosh,thatdamnthingisgoingtoeateverysinglechicken/babyduckinthisentirevillage!! Then I was really scared. You know how much that could cost to repay an entire village worth of lost ducks and chickens?!

I alerted my neighbors who showed more regret for my loss than thought about what it might actually mean for them and they said that they would search the area. Then Papa got on the phone and called Simba who said that I should've just isolated the cat, rather than letting it run free (where? in the house??) - but who then later said that if we were unable to find it, that he would find another cat for me, free of charge. Yeah right, that's just what I want, another feral cat, nothankyou!

So frustrated, I suddenly felt like all of the energy had seeped out of me and into the unknown (I did break a mirror the other day - is this only the beginning?), I crawled under my mosquito net and shed a few tears.

Laying in bed I heard the pitter patter of the rats in the ceiling right above my head, only mocking me I'm sure.

You'll never get us!! they say.

All of the sudden there was another sound. A cry.

OH MY GOSH - THE MONSTER'S STILL HERE!

I don't know if I was glad or scared. Once again, probably both.

Glad - not because my 7,000RWF of kitty was back, but because if it was in my house - it wasn't out wrecking havoc on all of the villagers' critters.

Scared because - shit, is it actually up there, in my ceiling? Is that thing going to hunt down those rats, kill them and leave them there to rot? Is it going to do worse, take a dump up there and leave that there to perfume the air of my house? Either way, I think I was just mostly grateful that if this thing was going to be playing hunter anywhere, I'd much rather it happen in my ceiling than in my neighbors chicken coop.

So I told my neighbors, just kidding - she's here! and went about my day thinking 1. she'll find her way back down my chimney in her own sweet time or 2. the longer she stays up there, the more she'll do what she's meant to do (rat-eating-professional) and the longer I'll be safe from surprise pounce attacks 3. oh my gosh, what have I done?

Every now and again, I'd hear her whine and I'd return to my bedroom to try and figure out where in the ceiling above she actually was. One of these times, I noticed that the bitterness of her tone wasn't really coming from up top, but from the corner of my room. And ooh, yeah, there she is - lodged between my bed frame (the same one I woke up to find myself sitting on, clinging to last night - in my "dream" the Nile was running through my mattress and I was at risk of being washed away. I've heard of dream walking but never dream drowning... the magic of malaria meds) and mattress, crying in discomfort. I budged the mattress to allow her to escape (I'm full of brilliant ideas today) and then quickly left the room again. The two of us seem to have a better relationship the greater the distance apart we are.

So on and off throughout the afternoon, I'd hear her kitten cry - which made her sound weak and vulnerable, wishing for TLC - but I know better, and I kicked myself for being so quick to bring home an animal I didn't know (surprisingly my judgment is much better with boys - or so I like to think).

Being a Sunday afternoon, I got my weekly phone call from home. Exasperated, I couldn't help but to cry on the phone to my mom and dad.

It's a bad day.

I have this kitten, she's a monster.

I can't even touch her.

I just wanted something to be my friend, but she's so mean.

Mom and Dad patiently heard me out but then they also told me how it was.

How would you feel if someone took you from your family, put a big cloak over your head, took you on a ride down some bumpy road, and dropped you off in the middle of nowhere.

You've tortured this kitten, of course it's upset!

Feeling guilty, oh so so guilty (how could I be so cruel?!) I then found myself comparing what this small creature is going through (because of me) to what I went through arriving here in my village.

I was dropped off in the dark of night.

I didn't have food (for a month) and water (for 2 days).

I didn't have friends.

I had no one I could communicate with.

All of the attention I received intimidated me to the point of not leaving my house for the entire first month.

Shit, a month. That's how long it took me to open up the gate and leave the safety of my little hiding place - no wonder this kitten isn't jumping at the opportunity to cuddle, she's freaked out - and rightly so! I can totally understand and respect that - I was the exact same way. It didn't matter how many visitors came to greet me (or more like to catch a glimpse at the white person) or how much my director wished I'd come pay a visit to his family and home - I needed time to feel safe, to get to know my surroundings, to familiarize myself with the sound of things that go bump in the night - all of that had to happen before I could open up and make friends with anyone.

So, here we are. The waiting game.

I hope that she doesn't cry through the night for days on end the same way I did, but honestly couldn't blame her if she did. I'm really not a patient person but as I'm finding is the case so often in Rwanda (in life in general actually), what other choice do I have?

Tomorrow morning the vet will come, hopefully he won't tell me that this thing - she's actually really cute behind all of her nasty attitude - is infected in someway, hopefully he'll give her a vaccination and then give me a dose of the age-old wisdom, that along with "komera" (be strong), is the recipe for any solution here - "inhangane" - be patient.

Komera.

Inhangane.

Let it be.