Luke asked me in today in his email what is your HERE, skelts?
So I’ll answer you.
My here is the end of Monday – a day of training interns, preparing for a festival just ten quick days away.
It’s the sound of that bird outside on the sagging makeshift washing line. He sings so sweetly.
It’s the dog that barks every night and it’s the light coming from next door, Mary singing as she washes up.
It is the click of my heels on the kitchen tiles – cheap wedges from the market. I dress differently in Nairobi.
It’s this bowl of beans and greens and carrots on the front step, the plate of steaming chapatti right next. I’ll eat with my fingers, a book propped open beneath my toes.
Here is knowing I have months more on this continent.