oh dear oh dear....i'm not writing enough am i? and i honestly have so much to say. usually.
it's just that, well, i trap myself in the conundrum of "do people really want to read all about that?" and . and. and. my friend died. this death stole all my words again. i don't feel alright.
death is random. death is very present. and i hate it. i know death is what colours life and makes it all deeply tenuous and extraordinary. but i still hate it. i hate it. friends try to say the right things like "but this happens all over the world." i know it does. but in this last year i have lost three friends to guns. three friends have been shot dead. is that normal? we don't live in a war zone, ya know?
he was driving with his clients on safari, as one does, at nine o clock in the morning - enjoying the views, the wilderness, when they ran into some ivory poachers by mistake. they opened up with automatic weapons immediately and he was killed. quickly, thank god. it's just terribly terribly sad and i miss him already. he leaves his wife and three children.
i can't write about the ivory poaching just yet. but i will one day. and about the chinese colonization of africa. not now though. my anger is too white hot.
he was my riding pal. he was the one who inspired us lot to get on, jump and ride for our lives. he was the one who always made everyone laugh. he was the naughty one. he was the one who lived with no regrets. he was the one who cried at his 60th over sambuka shots because he didn't want to get old. he was the one everyone loved. he was the one who said "the only reason i started riding all those years ago was so i could be surrounded by girls all the time." and i am very very sad he has gone. when you get that phone call it makes the world stop. it crunches you up. your mouth gapes into a silent scream no. birds fly in slow motion and the sunlight becomes sharper than ever and you stare at a blade of grass and feel frozen inside. sadness creeps like ink on blotting paper and suddenly you have no words for anyone or anything. just sadness. which sits in your throat. it grows, like a vine, from your stomach, through your throat and blossoms out through your eyes and your mouth, feeding on your words. i think.
so tomorrow we will be brave. i will sing at his memorial. it will be hard. but i will look at words and think of hitting the notes from above and i will not look at anyone...
i will not cry, inshallah. at least not there. you can't sing and cry at the same time.
Kitchen Board some time in february 2011
oh and it rained oh bestests. but then stopped. it was apparently because there was a cyclone off madagascar. but at least it's a little greener in any case. the power, as in TANESCO, is still more off than on and frankly, i wonder how the country keeps running.
bye bye then. bisous X.X.X. deeply sad ones which make you feel alive x j