Friday, January 16, 2004
Quite a few poems were stimulated by the trip to Kenya and Tanzania.
Here are some of them:
Going Native
hands burnt brown by African sun
burnished with sunblock
beads clacking musically
about my braided head
any more time in this land
and my blood will run
thick and rich
as coffee
Nakuru, Kenya 8/12/03
It was great meeting the Maasai - tall, lithe and very good looking. We got to dance with the women (a characteristic jumping dance) while wearing their bead jewellery - a bit touristy, but lots of fun!
Maasai journey
trees cling to hillsides
defending succulence with spears
mud huts squat in the dirt
haircuts ragged straw
children chase
our grunting duststorm on wheels
waving excited limbs
their voices dancing on the wind
tall figures stride
beacons for their cattle
slender ebony frames
draped regally in red tartan
they are guardians of this proud land:
upright in tradition
honoured to wear the red dust
anointing the hills
their women crowned
with white beads
rainbow collars radiate
like the long hot sun
to dance with them
is to jump for joy.
15/12/03, 22/12/03 Engaruka, Tanzania
I seem to like writing Moon poems.
African Moon
It is night
and my old friend the moon
is cloaked in her plume of ostrich feathers
henna on her face
for in Africa
she knows many secrets.
From her perch
she sprinkles light on my path
winking as if to say
¡§ It is the same earth,
the same rain ¡¨
A few tears fall.
a hyena sings into dark
as my thoughts rise sad and sweet
the earth breathes in her sleep
beneath a blanket of wet leaves.
8/12/03 Masai Mara, Kenya
I spent a few days by myself in Monbasa, on the coast.
Mombasa
air hung heavy
flutters in sea breeze
edges stained with diesel
a fortress totters
among coral:
ancient Christian sentinel
in a forest of mosques
above the palms
turrets dream
voices sing to Allah
striking the hour
men run with hunger in their eyes.
hello! konichwa!
they bark from kerbs
milking tourist flocks
for dollars
even the taxis have teeth
a dhow offers escape
slaves to Arab mystique
we search
for a perfect coral reef
Mombasa, Kenya 4/12/03
and finally, a fun piece; my first "rap"!
Matatu song (to rap beat)
*Capitalled syllables are meant for emphasis
*an appropriate accent, and audience participation, is encouraged.
YO! I¡¦m your MAN, if you REally want to GO
Be it FAR, be it CLOSE, to the TOWN or to the COAST
I¡¦ll be THERE, with my WHEELS
I can DO you ANy DEal
Just NAME your DESTinAtion
And I¡¦ll GIVE you MY SPI-el
I¡¦m a MA TA TU
I¡¦m a MA TA TU
GIMme your SHIllings and I¡¦ll TAKE YOU THERE
I¡¦m a MA TA TU
I¡¦m a MA TA TU
HOLD ON TIGHT for I HAVE NO FEAR.
YEAH! It¡¦s so COOL, the PAINT is barely DRY
The MIRrors really SPARkle and they SHINE SO BRIGHT
This GIRL is such a LEgend
And she¡¦ll DRIVE SO FAST
That you¡¦ll BArely smell the DIEsel as she ZOOMS RIGHT PAST
I¡¦m a MA TA TU
I¡¦m a MA TA TU
GIMme your SHIllings and I¡¦ll TAKE YOU THERE
I¡¦m a MA TA TU
I¡¦m a MA TA TU
HOLD ON TIGHT for I HAVE NO FEAR.
SO! sign right UP, you can TAKE A SEAT
She can Always fit one MORE, it¡¦s REally not a FEAT
If your BUM HANGS OUT and your LEGS flap in the BREEZE
It¡¦s HaKUna MaTAta, I¡¦ve alREady got your FEE.
I¡¦m a MA TA TU
I¡¦m a MA TA TU
GIMme your SHIllings and I¡¦ll TAKE YOU THERE
I¡¦m a MA TA TU
I¡¦m a MA TA TU
HOLD ON TIGHT for I HAVE NO FEAR.
YEAH! As we HOON with my ELbow up your NOSE
The DOOR is HANGing OPen so the COOL WIND BLOWS
WE won¡¦t STOP for MAN or BEAST, CROSSing THE ROAD
Our HORNS will SOUND the DEATH KNELL for those HAP-LESS SOULS.
I¡¦m a MA TA TU
I¡¦m a MA TA TU
GIMme your SHIllings and I¡¦ll TAKE YOU THERE
I¡¦m a MA TA TU
I¡¦m a MA TA TU
HOLD ON TIGHT for I HAVE NO FEAR.
Don¡¦s WORry if you SENse that-
The TIRes are GONna BLOW
We¡¦re REally burning RUBber, it¡¦s the ONly way to GO
As you FINish the JOURney a QUIveRING MESS
Just THANK the Lord you¡¦re LIVing, you are TRU-LY BLESSED!
I¡¦m a MA TA TU
I¡¦m a MA TA TU
GIMme your SHIllings and I¡¦ll TAKE YOU THERE
I¡¦m a MA TA TU
I¡¦m a MA TA TU
HOLD ON TIGHT for I HAVE NO FEAR.
„h Matatu: (Dalla-dalla in Tanzania) ¡V Kenyan minibus, usually crapped-out secondhand Jap import, driven by crazed boy racers around the city streets. Their aim is to fit as many people as possible into one vehicle and then get to the destination as fast as possible. To make it more exciting, the vehicles are painted with racing stripes, cool slogans and conspicuous lights/mirrors, may not have a functional door, and sometimes have rabidly loud sound systems, thus also functioning as lurching mobile discos. If it¡¦s got a seatbelt, it¡¦s definitely not a matatu. (it is also unlikely to be Africa).
„h Hakuna Matata ¡V ¡§no worries¡¨ in Swahili
„h Shillings: unit of currency in East Africa. A ride in a matatu within a city costs approx 15 shillings (30 cents), about 1/20th the price of a taxi.
email me: piokiwi@yahoo.com.au
Piokiwi 7:49 am
My third to last shift in Australia (yay!), and the last day I will be thirty (boo - another year older).
I've been reading through my last two entries, and they seem rather dark and self-pitying. Since I returned to Australia, I've been busy trying to tie up all the loose ends that need to be tied up on leaving a country and moving to another. I'm also rather gleefully, but busily, collecting information on my next travel destination - South America , leaving in 5 days!!
I have fog on the brain due to the fact it's 5 am and I've been up all night "saving lives" (reality is, it's rather formulaic in today's litiginous climate). I'm really looking forward to perking up and this depression lifting once I'm on the road again.
Over the last week, I've been busy writing and thinking about being a Chinese in a Western world. I'm excited that I've been accepted to present something on this topic at an autobiographical writing conference in Hong Kong in March ; I really have no idea what will really be the standard, but it's another step towards a career in writing.
Here's the abstract:(does it sound too posh?)
Masks and Mirrors: A collaborative reflection on intergenerational relationships
in the Chinese diaspora
I travel between worlds, my restless legs associated with the Hakka, the gypsy tribe of China. My ties travel through time and geography in China, Hong Kong, USA, and New Zealand, influenced by the unique complexities of Chinese culture.. Each generation inhabits an increasingly complex world, yet deals with it through the inherited human qualities of love, family loyalty, and friendship. We are veiled from the other by layers of truth, similar personalities of each generation (daughter-mother/daughter-father) clashing the most, yet ultimately sacrificing the most for one another. Those of us ‘in between’ are trying to understand, with no text book.
Hmm?
I've found there is a major problem with such personal writing - a sense of guilt that you may be inadvertently betraying your family. It seems to be easy to give people the impression that you are criticising your own parents (the worst sin in Chinese culture) , when in fact you are trying to understand your parents by looking at their actions and trying to work out their motivations.
I also can't be sure that my residual anger/frustration at recent events might be affecting my writing about my parents. Nevertheless, it seems important to explore these issues -and I'm also looking forward to hearing others' worldviews when I attend the conference.
To avoid the "family shame" as much as I can, I am using a nom de plume I decided on two years ago - "Christina Wei". Christina, my mother's first name, honours the fact that I think my writing genes come from her. "Wei" is part of my Chinese name, chosen by my grandfather. The character for "wei" means blossom, but my grandfather, deciding there were too many doctors in the family, decided to influence my destiny by adding an extra stroke, thus making it "literary blossom".(unfortunately, this was never explained to me until well after I'd entered med school!).
email me: piokiwi@yahoo.com.au
Piokiwi 7:32 am
Thursday, January 01, 2004
It's New Year's Day. NYE was spent here in Auckland among friends, though I am a little sad that no beaches, fireworks or mountaintops were involved. Never mind - I got to the beach the next day.
Despite the amount of time I spent chilling out (and not drinking) in a local pub, the passing of 2003 left me with few profound thoughts. (Maybe I'm just running low on profoundity).
At the moment I am angry. Angry because during a family dinner, my father made a very specific joke about dropping dead from a burst artery in the brain, poking me in the leg to make sure I got it. If it was merely accidental, it was grossly insensitive at the very least. If it was intentional, then it was even worse. I still can't believe the way that my parents are acting over this.
A few days ago I got a lecture from a close friend, one who knew me and Casey very well. He said (more or less) that I should start getting over it (being sad), and it's not as if Casey and I were going out at the time. It's true - we had broken up the July previously. But in the light of our 8 year history and the fact that (to our friends' confusion) we stayed living together, I admit I have tended to overlook this as a small technicality. In my mind (and certainly in the way I felt when he died) he WAS my partner. Is this so very wrong? And sure - as I have proven tonight, I do tend to go off the rails occasionally, and scream myself hoarse in private - it's a way of coping, and makes me no less functional the rest of the time. I think I prefer the emotional output way of coping to the rigid avoidance of pain.
email me: piokiwi@yahoo.com.au
Piokiwi 10:26 pm
It's strange: managed to get through Kenya and Tanzania, including 5 days solo in Nairobi and Mombasa, without getting mugged or robbed - and now I come home and I find one thing missing. My interest in my medical career. It's probably just a small downhill stretch on the road of life or a necessary reality check.
I'm afraid that for the last 9 shifts I have left to work in Australia, I will be reliable, but working without any heart or real interest. All of a sudden I just can't see myself satisfied with being a doctor for the rest of my life. This feeling seems to be happening to all my peers as well. We just can't shake the feeling that if we're unhappy, we should be considering doing something else.
Maybe it's just because I'm planning to travel again soon, or that I'm changing countries (or rather, coming home at last). Maybe all these positive comments about my writing and painting have gone too much to my head. But not for the first time, I'm thinking what if? - what if I just used medicine as a sideline reliable income and had a good go at something else for a while?
email me: piokiwi@yahoo.com.au
Piokiwi 10:02 pm
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