Bike Ride in Tanzania

April 1, 2012
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It is while I’m standing here leaning on my bicycle
Grains of sand making their way through pores of my converse
Neck bent dodging sun rays
That crease my forehead
Squinting my eyes
That I catch the glimpse in her eyes
Of the truth that defines me and destroys me
I am just another tourist
She has learned to sell her home
To my angular photography

I experience a mixed emotion
I am tolerated, respected or blatantly predictable
As I gaze down a dug well
Ornamented with rubbish
As I stare at the child and she knew what I was thinking?
He’s 3 months?
A box with a door clipped with a rubber band
She reads through my disgust at her toilet
Of no accessory, no privacy
She doesn’t move
Her feet frozen on the foundation of her mud home
Part of a world that hides what you can see
And shows what you cannot

As I walk out, there is no need for a good-bye
Not even a thank you on my part
I was never invited to be one of them
For she knew that as the sun slowly towers over us, boiling our heads
My air-conditioned room
Occupied my thoughts.
And welcomed me. Arms wide open.

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