heart of lightness - 9/19/00
they keep coming in, those words from shantytown, south africa, i wonder if they come from the same place that i see on television when they talk about the politics in johannesburg. does she also live in mud huts like they or is it somewhere more modern? i dont know, she talks about dry sex being enforced on wives, about child prostitution, about the taxicab culture, about the hospitality of those who have nothing, about the frustration of teaching about aids to a society that defines sexuality as a taboo subject, she asked me to call her, to come and see her there, see where i am, see what i see, tell me only the most ordinary things from home, to counterbalance all that i am telling you.
i worry about her, she who wallows in the ghettos of skid row, l.a., in the gutters of montreal and in the sewers of south africa, she who rather sleep in the hallway than in the hotel room, she who camped outside my door at 2 a.m. when she could not accept comfort when others could not, she who used to impersonate elvis in high school, the early elvis, she who has been divorced from her family and claimed me as a replacement.
twice weekly, when she is able to access a computer and the internet from wherever she is, in woli nani, she sends me excerpts, each more fascinating and mor shocking and more humane than the last. she describes a performance piece where a white man thought it would be politically significant to be circumcised by a black africa woman, the chaos that arose and the boycott, the gasps, the murmurs, the ridicule that surrounded the event.
she describes the reluctance of black people to look at white people in the eye and vice versa, she describes white afrikaaners who barricaded themselves into their pristine white apartment building, bitching over their loss of mobility while they water the plants on the balcony, and the black people on the streets, anger radiating from them just as the heat melts the pavement and glares off the tin roofs
she asked me to go see her in january.
i dont know if i can. i've seen the devastation saddam spread over his people, i've seen child labour in north africa, i've shared coffee with the homeless in montreal but i dont know if i have the emotional experience for south africa, the situations there so horrifying it is not even published in the media.
so i wrangle and agonize over this request. is it my duty to pay acknowledgement in person to the destruction mankind has done to mankind? more than gaining an insight, will i learn a lesson, will anyone benefit from what i might witness? what is to be gained? and what will i lose in the process?
what will i lose?
i worry about her, she who wallows in the ghettos of skid row, l.a., in the gutters of montreal and in the sewers of south africa, she who rather sleep in the hallway than in the hotel room, she who camped outside my door at 2 a.m. when she could not accept comfort when others could not, she who used to impersonate elvis in high school, the early elvis, she who has been divorced from her family and claimed me as a replacement.
twice weekly, when she is able to access a computer and the internet from wherever she is, in woli nani, she sends me excerpts, each more fascinating and mor shocking and more humane than the last. she describes a performance piece where a white man thought it would be politically significant to be circumcised by a black africa woman, the chaos that arose and the boycott, the gasps, the murmurs, the ridicule that surrounded the event.
she describes the reluctance of black people to look at white people in the eye and vice versa, she describes white afrikaaners who barricaded themselves into their pristine white apartment building, bitching over their loss of mobility while they water the plants on the balcony, and the black people on the streets, anger radiating from them just as the heat melts the pavement and glares off the tin roofs
she asked me to go see her in january.
i dont know if i can. i've seen the devastation saddam spread over his people, i've seen child labour in north africa, i've shared coffee with the homeless in montreal but i dont know if i have the emotional experience for south africa, the situations there so horrifying it is not even published in the media.
so i wrangle and agonize over this request. is it my duty to pay acknowledgement in person to the destruction mankind has done to mankind? more than gaining an insight, will i learn a lesson, will anyone benefit from what i might witness? what is to be gained? and what will i lose in the process?
what will i lose?
posted by kinkspeak at 19.4.04
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home