The river is not the same river

That was here

When I held you close.

The river is gone.

The secret is here

The river is gone.

The secret is here

The river is gone.

And the river

Is not deep enough

To hold our secret.

Interlude. Murtala Muhammed International Airport. Ugly edifice for a mass murderer. The Harmattan winds wash my face dry and hand me a chewing stick. Is that Marvin Gaye pouring his pain out on my father's gramophone? And the policeman with the skin plastered over dry bones said 'Welcome home to Nigeria.' And my heart asked, "Why did you come home to this?"

- Your hair looks nice.

- I am glad you like it. I made it for you.

- You lie. You made it for your husband.

- I made it for you.

They sat there on the bed each saying nothing. After all these years away from Nando, he could still tell when she was going to cry. Her eyes were glistening and soon her body was shaking gently, the tears were streaming down and she was sobbing quietly, gently. Perhaps, he thought, he should have never come to see her.

- You did not write me. You said you would come for me.

- I have missed you every day. America has been hard on me and I didn't want you to be part of the suffering. It hurt so much but I could not get you out of my mind. In the depths of the winter I would stay in my room and dream of coming home to you. I couldn't get you out of my mind, but I was too ashamed to write. What could I write about? There was nothing here to write about, America was not the land I dreamt of, and I did not want you to be a part of that dawn.

- Stay. Don't go.

- I have to go. I will be back tomorrow.

He got up and walked out into the dark chilly night and he didn't look back. Her heart wailed, 'Stay, don't go.' But the words stuck in her throat. And like a sweet nightmare her dream vanished as quickly as he had come. She shut the door and cried herself to sleep.

Kisumu

Dark eyes

I wish I'd never met you.

But we are here

Before you

And I am glad

I met you.

And

This is why we are here

This is why the stream flows past

Taunting the scorched tortured earth.

This is why we are here

To mourn our passing images

Of images etched hard in our irises.

And now we drive blind with tears in our eyes

Drip, drip, drip

Tears in our eyes.

They walked along the dusty streets of their ancestors, gingerly holding hands. They walked along the pregnant bush-path to the river that holds the dam, that holds the dark, crimson memories of the angry warriors felled by the guns of vengeful warriors.

Silence.

The brook babbles on, babbles on, mocking the timid silence. The water laps relentlessly brushing sensuously against weathered rocks, the water taps on quiet rocks, water, timekeeper for that which must be done. Little fish dart in and out of favorite places, dangerous places. Nando's feet suddenly kick up water. And suddenly everything flees in protest, and for a split second, there is a vacuum, where troubled feet once kicked restlessly.

Silence.

- I don't want to see you again.

- Why? That doesn't make sense. Why?

- I am in love with you. And I can't see you again.

- Why? That doesn't make sense. Why?

- I told you. I am in love with you.

Silence. The brook babbles, babbles on mocking the timid silence. The water laps relentlessly against tired rocks, the water taps quietly on tired rocks. Little fish dart in and out of favorite places, dangerous places.

- Don't go.

- I must go. And I am in love with you. Go. Go. America will take care of you. And I shall think of you.

- Nando, I never stopped thinking about you. When the Americans gave me a job, I told myself I would put some money aside each month and then someday, I would come get you. I had to come get you. Gentle one, strong one, you were my best friend, you pulled me out of the darkness that hurts, out of the shame of the madness that no one can see and you made me walk along your side. I have traveled all over the earth and your love haunts me, still. Here, this is for you.

Rain

And the gods

  mocked me

    frail reed

     leaning

      on the wind.

    and the gods

      mocked me

       with thick

          furious

           sulfurous

            salty gobs

             of rain.

Before the dance

This hut that holds you,

Mystery of the misty, musty, wet Savannah

Nando of the burning dream, hold me.

Hold me in this river

That holds shards of pretty mirages

And I am sick no longer.

And now we may dance, Nando, no?

Nando of the hurricane's eye,

Listen to the rush of your eye's fury.

Nando of the blood-curdling roar,

Your age-mates came chasing your tail's wake.

Nando of the hurricane's fangs,

The wind, the wind chases the cowries

Round and round and round

Your wind-swept skirt.

Nando of the pretty face that spits hot rocks,

Crushed white chalk,

Crushed black pot

Crushed in crushed blood

Crushed in crushed earth

Crushed in crushed ancestors' white chalk

Turned crimson turned black

Turned red-hot angry

Turned coal-black with shame.

Nando of the raging river

That washes the earth pure,

Bathes the earth red,

Nando, Olokun of the moody river,

Masquerade, they are coming for you,

Nando, harbinger of the moody spirits,

They are coming for you.

Nando of the eyes, dark

That tease the warrior's loins,

Look! Look! Ikekhuamen stands on this anthill.

The flute! The flute!

The flute wails, dark sonorous sobs,

The flute is out of breath

Looking for you.

Nando of the legs

That peek out of the gazelle's loincloth!

Look! Look! Ikekhuamen stands on this anthill

That breeds masquerades

 Of the sensuous raffia skirts.

Masquerade (Oduma)

I know you,

Masquerade.

Every morning you rise,

White shirt, khaki pants,

From the anthill on the parking lot.

Of our dreams.

And I follow you to the coffee pot

Where the coffee is black, no milk no sugar.

And your face says nothing.

And your eyes say nothing.

And your body says nothing.

Everywhere there is laughter.

And all the questions are answered

Masquerade

I know you.

You came from the anthill on the parking lot

Of our dreams.

The Cab Driver's Song [From Exile]

If you look through him,

What do your senses tell you?

Are you staring at this mirror?

Do you see yourself?

The river of images keeps coming back,

The waves keep returning

Lapping at your conscience.

The waves of the apocalypse return

Relentlessly dropping time capsules at your clay feet.

Time capsules of a past drenched in the blood of patriots.

But nothing washes these feet clean.

The waves return with the fish from Hades.

Fish with teeth that belong in sawmills.

We've been here before.

This is just another cycle.

The door opens.

And I walk out into the rancid air.

Life goes on.