With this last post I am closing my African adventure. By the time this entry gets posted I will be already on the plane on my way to Moscow.

It is impossible to describe all the emotions that I have to go through right now. This has been my identity for two years, and now, once again, I am starting from scratch. They say that the hardest part about African Peace Corps is not the heat, or rough living conditions, or being a lonely white man in the bush away from your family, or anything you might think off. The hardest part is coming back home and trying to fit in. To say that I had been changed by this experience is to say nothing. I know that America will shock me, disturb me, maybe even disgust me after the two years here. I know, that this is also, what they call, cultural differences - and I should be able to overcome them. But it will be hard, and I will need time and support from people around me. The Gambia was amazing. I learned so much. I enjoyed so much. I am so happy and grateful that I was able to do this. I am also happy that now I get to go and see my family and friends, who I miss very very much. I had an incredible two years of service. It is time to leave.

As they say: You never really leave a place or person you love, part of them you take with you, leaving a part of yourself behind. True.

Gambians also say: No matter how long the stick will stay in the river, it will never become a crocodile. Also very true. It's time.

Traveling is not just seeing the new; it is also leaving behind. Not just opening doors; also closing them behind you, never to return. But the place you have left forever is always there for you to see whenever you shut your eyes.

Not Christian or Jew orMuslim,

not Hindu, Buddhist, Sufi, or Zen.

Not any religion

or cultural system.

I am not from the eastor the west,

not out of the ocean or up from the ground,

not natural or ethereal,

not composed of elements at all.

I do not exist, am not an entity in this world

or the next, did not descend from Adam and Eve

or any origin story.

My place is the placeless, a trace of the traceless.

Neither body or soul. I belong to the beloved,

have seen the two worlds as one

and that one call to and know,

first, last, outer, inner, only that

breath breathing human being.

Tomorrow is my last day in Africa. Guess what, not many things had changed in those 2 years as I am still:

Currently freaking out.... :)

We had an annual Peace Corps photo contest, and here are some of the winners. Pretty amazing pictures.

Mother HawaCooking Sunlight...

One of my favorites: 'Ar naam', meaning "Come, eat'

I left the village on June 1, 2009. This is how dreams come to an end. For two years I was living the impossible. I did not dare to talk about my wish to become a PCV to anybody for the fear of not being understood. Now the fear is gone and the dream is gone. Two years in Africa gave much more then I could ever possibly give to Africa. I learned many lessons and I am so so so grateful to Allah for being able to have this experience. But enough of long words.Leaving the village was not easy. Packing and Isatou with Baby B are helping me. I was crying, Sira was crying, Gorgol was crying. Kumba was not crying, but then she is too small to understand really....

On the way back we stopped my another village where I was working to say goodbyes. They gave me a beautiful dress and made me cry some more... I arrived to Kombo with a headache and sick to my stomach from saying goodbyes. So I decided that I will go back to the village that weekend just to hang out... It is not easy to leave this place, it is not easy.

Saying goodbye to the school was a long and painful process. I got attached to those children. I know their names, their personalities, their mood swings. I will miss them.

The morning assembly on my last day of school.

Teachers sitting in the shade.

We had a small celebration on my last day. We exhibited our art, played our music.

This is wife of the school principle.

On the morning of my last day I went to school to take our last pictures. This is my grade 8. Yusupha, one of my all time favorites, mad at me for going. He was angry and upset.

Musa. my host-brother, and Samba, our new-elected head boy.

Binta being sad...

Demba being sad...

I was very sad myself. The day before some girls come to my compound and brought me some baobabs so I can take them to America to show American people.

This is Oumie:

Binta, Oumie and Khaddy:

Hawa, my favorite student: Mama, my great friend and student:

Our last group shot.

oh... Sambang.... I will miss you.

Praying time:

so peaceful, that it makes me almost want to pray myself.

My tooma, Toola Bah was born the night before Gamo - village prayer that lasts the entire night and is a cause of great anticipation and celebration. She was born at night at the cement block, that we use as a shower floor in my mother's back yard. She weighted 3 kg and was pretty ugly. The first seven days of her life she spend inside the house with her mother. The baby can not be taken outside or seen by any male before it has a name. The name is given after a week from birth.

When the name is given to the baby, a ceremony called Ngente occurs in the compound. I had this ceremony performed on me, see the entry of June 25, 2007 (http://chaycka.blogspot.com/2007/08/june-25-2007.html, seriously two years had passed). Now this ceremony was performed on my tooma. Me and my sitemate Jon put on our best clothes and went to the ceremony. Her head was shaved, colonuts were distributed and the name given. We cooked benachin and sat around.

Me, Sira and baby Toola:

It is custom here to draw eyebrows on a new born babies. With a big black eye pencil they draw those huge, black eyebrows.... Me and Jon went a little overboard and gave her Arlekino eyebrows. The mother came, took the baby and restored it to the normal state...

Kodak moment: Since this is my tooma, when she grows to 7-9 years, she will be sent to my compound, where she will help with cooking and cleaning and taking care of younger children... think this is funny? Let's see what happened in the next 9 years....

We received a present from the volunteers that visited school in March - a few hand held tam-tams, few xylophones, and 3 sets of bells. We also received musical notation of Twinkle Twinkle Little Start, National Anthem of The Gambia and Doe The Deer. For the past month children were coming to my compound were I was teaching them how to play those songs. After the teaching was over we would have a jam session with students playing, small children dancing and grown ups clapping. It was loud and wonderful.

This is one of our jam sessions where everyone was free to improvise and play however they want. The result was surprisingly melodic, as far as African music is melodic...

And this is during our face-to-face sessions where I was teaching them how to play the National Anthem and other things.

And this is Kumba dancing non-stop. This girl... I am telling you, she will be something when she grows up!!! :)

FAWEGAM (Forum for African Women Educationalists of the Gambia) has a program called "Take Your Daughters to Work Day". During this program 25 girls from the provinces are sent to the capital where they participate in a 4 day workshop. They stay with a host-mother - a successful female role model who agrees to take care of one girl for 3 nights. They attend lectures, programs, visit the University, play games, et cetera, et cetera. I had to choose 2 girls from my school to attend this program. I choose the smartest and most well behaved girls in our school,

Mariama:

and Fatoumata:

Both girls are exceptionally bright, hard-working and I pray for them to have a good future. I can imagine how happy they were to attend this program and what a great change it was for them! Coming from the village, living with their simple-minded mothers and fathers, farming all their lives, attending a rural school - and then suddenly living with those sophisticated Kombo ladies, going for lectures, seeing the capital of their country. It had to be one of the most exciting things that happened to them in a long time.Me and Lamin took a donkey cart so we can travel the 10k to the road and meet them when they were coming back. I did not want my girls to walk that far on foot, although donkey is slower then walking.

We met them on the road. They were tired, hungry, it was late, and they were not able to shut up. Ms. Toola, we went to that place and they made us break into pairs and we did this, Ms. Toola we did that and then that woman came and she told us about this.... It went on and on and on. What a perfect happy experience!

Long long time ago during winter break, when I was cleaning my library I came across a pile of books called Efficacy Books. My first impulse was to burn them as they looked like a waste of space. After the second glanced I realised that those books are priceless. Efficacy book is a book that is given to every child and contains stories, questions, places to draw self portraits and pictures of friends, places to write things about oneself. In short it is a book that is used for the self-development of a child - in grade 3. My children are grade 8, but nevertheless the books were wonderful and very useful. We spend a total of about 10 hours writing and drawing in these books, reading stories and discussing them. I used all the stickers that my mother mailed for me to decorate their books. After the end of the academic year, they took their books home. This was one of my most successful programs in the school.

One other day we made masks. We had paper-mâché, feathers, paints, glitter and other wonderful things - all a gift from volunteers who came to my school in March. We spent 2 remarkable afternoons running wild with creativity. Paper-mâché finished before every student was able to get a mask. Only 21 students - the ones who where brave enough to do the crazy thing their toubab asked them to do - were able to have it finished.

One day at the arts&crafts class we made collages. First I was teaching what is and how to use glue. Then we practiced how to used scissors. We only had 5 scissors for the class of 40 students, but we managed. The result:

My last weeks in the village were the best weeks of my service. At this point I had enough language ability to joke around and feel confident about myself. Here are a series of portraits from my most favorite people in the village:

Malang:

Gorgol (auntie):

My sister Kumba (far right) and her friends:Da Icie with Baby M (Momodu):Aminata:

Our village tailor, Kebba:Kumba and Oumie:My mother Sira, fresh out of the shower. She fought hard to prevent me from taking this picture, but I stood my ground. I really like it when her hair is no braided, like this. She does not. My cat, Obama, a very special animal that I found in school as a small kitten and raised it on powdered milk: Me teaching Sira how camera works: My tooma, a baby named Toola after me: My tooma and her mother:

Praying time:Cooking time:

Taking care of babies time:

Playing with Obama time:

Coming back home was filled with adventures. First of all I was travelling on set-setal, which is "Operation - Clean the nation!" day. During that day (last Saturday of the month) cars are not allowed to drive 9AM to 1PM and everybody should clean their houses and streets. It is a good idea, but a nuance travelling-wise. Our minibus left the garage at 7Am and after 2 hours of driving we pulled up on the side of the road, while driver was contemplating his options: to drive or not to drive? If we are to drive - the police and army checkpoints will give us hard times. If we are to wait here till 1PM - we will be very very very late. So after an hour break he decided to drive on. The police stopped us many times but a few dalasies exchanged hands and we were on our way.I arrived home rather late. Dirty, tired, dreaming of bath and bed I walked into my compound. And there is was. Shocking and disturbing image that took at least a minute to register: my house was gone. Well not entirely gone. But the roof was gone, the doors and windows were hanging of the hinges, rubble on the floor and other pleasantries. So it happened that the house next to mine was in need of a reconstruction. So it happened that my house took the hit as well. The absence of the roof made it possible for me to take artistic pictures in black&white a'la Piet Mondrian.

So I moved into the front room of my mother's house and shared the bed with my little sister Kumba. And that is how we lose our need for privacy. We lose the privacy and the need goes after it... :)

I am fying out of The Gambia to Russia on June 18. And then to America in August-September timeframe. See you all soon soon!

The second term is finished. The school is closed and I am in Kombo preparing for out COS (Close of Service) conference. The time is pressing and soon enough I will be saying my goodbyes to my family and others around me.

To people - the ones I will definitely miss, like my 8 grade students, the most charming and vivacious girls...

To my beloved baobab trees, kings of savanna. They grow so slow that all the baobabs that we see now were here at least 500 years ago, some 1,000. Imagine that? I cannot. Those trees are truly amazing and I wish I can bring a seeding back to States. But who knows? Maybe it will grow wild in US and tear it to peaces like in the La Petite Prince. If not - well I doubt I will be here another 1,000 years to see it grow. There is a baobab tree in out compound. It is not too tall, some 20-25 feet and not too thick, maybe 1.5 meter in diameter. I asked one of the elders in the village if they planted it. He smiled and said: When I was just a boy we used to climb this tree and it was not much shorter then it is now... And this guy is about 100 years old (or 50... cannot really tell here)To the whole loudness and dancing and absence of personal space or privacy or private property - all those invention of spoiled western mind. To the whole craziness and beauty and beating of the drums aka bidong. To the whole hotness and dryness and wildness. Mama Africa. =D

My school received some visitors from one non-profit organisation in WA, USA. Six people came with a lot of supplies, ideas and energy and entertained my kids for 2 days.

Miss Barbara was occupying them by showing them magic aka chemistry and physics experiments. It was fun to watch...

and participate...

Although end of the term combined with spring met a lot of older students restless and uninterested in anything but flirtations.Girls flirting with boys...boys flirting with girls...in dark and hot classrooms....

The younger grades were more excited about diffusion, gravity, air expansion and what-nots...

Although, when Miss Barbara started doing air-pressure even the older kids woke up and got all excited. Free balloons! The next day every 3-year old in my village was walking around chewing random piece of balloon. Just like chewing gum only more durable. Mr. Eberhard worked with 6 students, teaching them how to use digital cameras. Does not sound like a very vital skill for children living in the rural African village, but my god they had fun! Check out his website at Cameras Without Borders. That was the best thing that probably happened to those kids in a long time. The emotions were running high when I had to choose 6 candidates for this program. It is hard when you have 120 kids and all want to do it, but there are only 6 spots.

The last project they did was to paint a murial in one of the neighboring schools of Madina Wallom. It took Terry 4 days and all her sanity to finish it. I think it is beautiful.

And they left...Now I have all those arts&crafts materials that I need to utilise before I go home.... Can you believe it? I am going home... This whole blog-thing is almost over...

BESPOR (Basic Education Support for Poverty Reduction) is sponsoring a teacher-training program in my region. The program is aimed at the unqualified teachers (UQT) in rural school. Unqualified means that the teachers have no education apart from High School Diploma - but since there are not enough teachers, they are welcome to teach lower classes. BESPOR's program is a 5-year long study course, where the UQT don't have to leave their jobs and villages, but are given modules to study and thrice a year they have to report to the Regional office for more studying and examinations. BESPOR personnel also comes and visits every UQT at their school to observe and comment on their classroom skills. It is a good program and I am lucky enough to be a small part of it. I have 2 UQT in the nearby Lower Basic School of Mt. Camel and 3 times a week we meet for 2 hours and read their modules together and do all the activities. This is how I've met Isatou.

Isatou is one of the best people I got to know in The Gambia. She just had a baby, right before her winter examinations, so it had not been easy for her to continue with this program. However she is doing it and I wish her all the best after she passes (knock on wood) her finals tests in April - which is now.

Mt Camel is a well decorated school. This is their library.

And that is us hanging out after out 2 hour learning session.

Random pictures from my household.

Cooking with Sira and playing with Kumba.I start thinking more and more about the fact that very very very soon I will leave those people for-ever. Pretty cliche but it still strucks me as odd.

On March 28, 2009 our school had Inter-Kunda Sporting Competition. 'Kunda' means 'house', the school is divided into four team and each team is assigned a color: red, blue, green and yellow. According to the color, the team is named Yellow-Kunda, Green-Kinda, etc... The teachers are divided into Kunda-masters and are in charge of their Kunda's trainings and preparations for the competition. I was a kunda-master for green-kunda.

The competition is divided into 2 parts: actual sporting event during the day and disco at night. It is a big deal and all the children are looking forward to it.

We trained the entire week leading to the competition - running, long jump, high jump, bucket balance, etc. The day before all my girls came to my house and we cooked tasty refreshments for the athletes: baobab juice, cous and sour milk, panketos and other things.

Here are my girls:

The next morning flags were waved and sun was shining. The Inter-Kunda began.

The event was held at the big football field 1 km away from my school. Kundas were placed at the four corners:

Yellow-Kunda:

Green-Kunda:

Blue-Kunda:

Red-Kunda:

In the center was the music set with enormous speaker - for announcements and hip-hop music (Shakira, Shakira!). The judges - high officials from the regional office - sat at the center, enjoying the shade structure and recorded each kunda's points on the big score board for everyone to see.Left to right - principal of our school, our two sport masters.

I am telling you, those kids can do sports. They run fast, jump high and party hard.High jump Blue-Kunda: Our school got about 60 football jerseys donated from USA. I struggled to bring all of them from Kombo packed on my bicycle in time for the competition. Unfortunately, we were donated red jerseys, blue jerseys, yellow jerseys and purple jerseys... My kids were pretty upset, but then we figured that purple jerseys are better for Green-kunda then no jerseys at all. So when you see Purple - think Green! High jump Green-kunda: Lime-on-a-spoon competition for the smallest kids. You put the lime on the spoon and run with it - whoever makes it first to the finish line without dropping the lime, wins. There was was trouble with this event involving one smart boy, one hidden piece of chewing gum strategically placed on the spoon and one upset Blue-Kunda master - but it all got figured at the end. Sports competitions are always prone to cheating, are they not? Three-legged race. Pretty hilarious to watch. There were also bag race, but I missed recording it. My favorite - bucket balance! Pretty unbelievable stuff. I cannot imagine how they do it. Fatoumata, below on the picture, is our best student in the whole entire school. Exceptionally bright, polite, well-behaved. And she got us the first place in bucket-balance run! And on a side there were a lot of dancing, cheer leading and having a good time. Here are some images from our Green-kunda.

Group shot with teachers. This is already the middle of the day and we are all pretty tired. All that cheering...

It was one happy day for me at the school. I enjoyed the celebration tremendously and, although we only got the 3rd place (red got the first, those cheaters), I felt like we won! At night the speakers scared all hyenas in the radius of 50 miles, there were dancing, tasty treats and a lot of hookups among older students. Just like prom, but in savanna. Teenagers are all the same, no matter which hemisphere they live in.

My host-mother Sira and Kumba at dusk. The hotness subdued and it is once more possible to be sitting outside enjoying the coolness...

My host-uncle John at his orchard. There was a bush fire and his cashew trees got damaged. But they did not die so maybe it will be OK.My students.

My host-aunt Isatou packing her trunk. All her family is moving away from our village and she is dividing the fabric....

One of my sister - Dabba

Sitting with a few friends in the neighboring village of Choya.A beautiful daughter of Sambang Imam (religious leader) - Jainaba. He does not let his children go to school but dresses them in nice clothes and marries early. Jainaba does not speak any English but is the hottest and best-dressed girl in the village.

John and Baby-I

Amie decided to braid Baby-I's hair, so in order to make her sit for an hour she gave her this huge bowl of peanut butter.... Result is in pictures:

But now she's got braids!

One Saturday afternoon.

This is my house before:This is my house after:Details:The big flower says (clockwise) Khaddy Bah ('01-'03), Mai Bah ('03-'05), Jibeh Bah ('05-'07) and Toola Bah ('08-'09) - names of 4 PCV living or lived in this house.

With the rest of the paint, I remodeled my mother's house and kitchen area. Kitchen is all black, so the dirt and soot will not be visible...

Artist at work...

С прошедшим 8-ым Мартом!!!!

This is me burning trash.... Got to clean the house sometimes!!!

.

. . . . . Март, 2007

Перекликнулись братья-вороны,

По обрыву черкнув крылом.

Белый снег на четыре стороны,

Белый снег за моим окном.

Потерявшись в горах где облако

Закрывает собой – верх? вниз?

Я бреду по тропе паломником

На последний земной карниз.

А с карниза не видно пропасти;

Клочья снега, седой туман.

Возникает чувство неловкости

Между нами. Самообман

Отношений. Так горек утренний,

Изумрудно-зеленый чай.

И настойчиво голос внутренний

Шепчет: Время сказать прощай…

Снег вальсует согласно, слушает

Южных Альпов органный гимн.

Распадаются жизни, рушатся,

Разлетаются словно дым

На ветру. На вершине встретимся

И расстанемся в Никогда…

Так прозрачно и нежно светится

Золотых облаков гряда.

.

.

* * *

Мы в дыме сигарет. Такая нервотрепка

Как-будто бы судьбы усталая рука

Сыграла невпопад. Бессмысленность ребенка

Единственный ответ на сети рыбака.

Пресыщенность любви. Последнее свиданье.

И тихо в темноте ты скажешь: Почему?

Ненужные мечты, а в глубине сознанья

Рождаются слова: Я тоже не пойму.

Зачем ходить конем? Зачем стрелять из пушек?

Нам драмы на всю жизнь хватило в прошлый раз.

И мы с тобой как две усталые игрушки

В коробке под столом – родительский наказ.

Мне кажется пройдут нападки меланхолий,

Пустые почему рассыпятся в труху.

И сигаретный дым, нам въевшийся в ладони,

Еще один резон ответить рыбаку.

Последний поцелуй. И так ненужно сладок.

Мои мечты, твои – прикрыты наготой.

Бессмысленно любить, всегда дыша на ладон.

Бессмысленно бежать за финишной чертой.

.

.

........Переправа у Барры

Вода дымится паром. По реке

Плывут пироги, груженные скотом.

Мычат телята. Вечно налегке

Кочуют облака по небосводу,

По переливам шелковой волны.

Два пеликана пролетают мимо.

Как в забытье, колышатся челны

Под мерное дыхание прилива.

Выходит солнце, жмурясь ото сна;

Паром гудит приветственно как другу.

Толпа людей на палубе. Весна.

И апельсин спасательного круга.

Прибой играет пеной. На песке

Узор следов, разбой жемчужных крабов.

Подле меня сидит на сундуке

Седой отец евреев и арабов.

Прямой и строгий. Вечности удел –

В нем ненасытный гомон хищных чаек,

И новый день, оставленный без дел...

Вздохнул мотор и наш паром отчалил.

.

.

* * *

Избегая ненужных движений,

Так лениво лежать в гамаке.

Проплывают в воде отраженья

Облаков. Суета и сраженья

Муравьев на горячем песке.

Крокодилы плывут по реке.

Дни проходят, столетья. Заброшены

Книги, письма, статьи новостей.

И становится частью прошлого

Настоящее. Нежно брошена

Мне на плечи папаи тень.

Вдалеке голоса детей.

И бесшумно уходит день.

My vacation story is far from being finished as there are still two more destinations to go to (one is snow capped mountains and the other is the only medieval city on earth...), but I need to go catch a bus to my village and teach students now. Hopefully I will be back around March or April or February... time is a relative substance.

Morocco will stay in my memory forever. It was an amazing amazing amazing time.

On the way back Pete and Becca's connecting flight was delayed so they did not make their flight to Dakar and I had to go back all by myself. They were stuck in Madrid for another 4 days. But they enjoyed it. Went to bars...

...and experience that weird phenomena when white staff falls to the ground... how you call it... snow! Finally they made it back and we were reunited again! And such the trip was finished.

Last two days where spent in Marrakesh - loud and vibrant city in the Atlas Mountains. Marakesh consist of huge square surrounded by labyrinth of of streets filled with shops, cafes, fruit stands, etc.

During the day the square hosts rows upon rows of sellers with beads, dried fruit, drums, juices. At night, those stalls get replaced by people selling meat, cinnamon tea and snail.

But the magic time is around the dusk. That's when the snake charmers come out and play music to cobras. That's when the actors come out and perform. And crowds gather. And stories are told in the circles and drums are played. The henna artist come out too and draw beautiful patters on the skin of charmed tourists. I can continue but I should stop and let you see the pictures...

Eating snails:

Magical lamp shop:

Drinking avocado juice. Take 1 liter of milk, 3 ripe avocados and sugar to taste. Put it all in the blender. Blend. Enjoy!

Ancient ruins at Marrakesh:

After Sahara we moved to the High Atlas Mountains. The top most peaks are covered in snow and were not accessible with out light ammunition. Maybe next time! This time however we hiked all around the mountains, enjoyed the beautiful scenery, went up and down into the valley and back to the hills again. We were staying in a guest house, where I was trained in cooking tajine - local Moroccan meat and vegetable stew.

Becca on the mule:

Amazing mountains:

And our next stop was Merzuga, tiny village right on the outskirts of Sahara desert. From there we took a two day camel trek into the desert, and came back to spend New Years Eve at the Bedouin camp.

There is really not much to say about these 2 days - it was the absolute highlight of my trip - watch out for the pictures of me walking up and down the dunes. Sahara was a mind blowing, life shattering, out of this world experience. I will never forget and i want to go back. Just sitting on this huge body of golden sand with golden sand everywhere around you. Looking at the camp at the base of the dune. Riding a camel: slowly and proudly swimming through the desert. Meeting people who live there. Live there! It is sand on sand on sand. And there is still life and children are being raised and toys are being brought. Eating cous-cous with my fellow travelers. Sitting by the fire at night listening to silence. Complete silence. Even in the mountains or the forest there are still natural sounds. There it was eerie quiet. Nothing is moving. Nothing is living. I was practically crying when we had to go.

It is a different world out there.

Oh and if somebody tells you that it is cold in the desert in winter, do not believe them. It is not cold. It is freezing. How will I ever make it back to States, leave aside Russia???

И, быть может, немного осталось веков,

Как на мир наш, зеленый и старый,

Дико ринутся хищные стаи песков

Из пылающей юной Сахары.

Средиземное море засыпят они,

И Париж, и Москву, и Афины,

И мы будем в небесные верить огни,

На верблюдах своих бедуины.

И когда наконец корабли марсиан

У земного окажутся шара,

То увидят сплошной золотой океан

И дадут ему имя: Сахара.

our guide loved my Winnie... and Winnie loved to snowboard on the dunes... and I loved my camel. I named him Nicolas in memory of Gumilev...And Becca named her crazy camel Milky Way (obviously) and that Milky Way bit Nicolas on a butt and Nicolas Buckled and I went flying off my camel arms apart, face down into the nearest dune... Good thing Winnie was keeping me warm under my jacket so I landed on him. No hurt done. We should have administrated Nicolas rabbi's shot but we were out of it... :) Mint tea! More mint tea! Am I artistic or what? insane... and she can crawl if you put batteries in.. imagine.. that thing crawling in Sahara. This world is a weird place, I tell you. Cooking cous-cous: that is me over there... don't we look like those sand midgets from Star Wars? still me walking...

Fes is one of the oldest Moroccan cities. It is filled with history, art and labyrinth of dark, narrow, stone streets. The medina (center of the old city) is so confusing and easy-to-get-lost that there are many small boys, wandering the streets of Fes, making money by helping poor scared tourists find their way back to the hotel or center of the city. We got lost only a few times thanks to Pete's and Becca's amazing sense of direction. I was just kind of following as there was no way for me to ever figure my own way out.Fes is the city that hides and protects its beauty. Unlike Chefchuan that was beautiful and friendly and we fell in love from the first sight - Fes requires a visitor to go in search of its beauty. But then when you do find it - it is pretty unbelievable. Hand carved plaster with impressive level of details, carved wooden doors, colored glass mosaics, beautiful parks and an newly restaurated 14 century Royal Palace.There are three parts of the city: old medina, Jewish mellah and new city and I loved all of them equally. In an unhappy event of me standing and not doing anything wrong - a huge dog came running after me thinking I am an enemy... Well to put it short, I had to go get 4 shots and spend a good part of the day limping. We were staying in a local guesthouse run by beautiful charming widow by the name of Fatima. When, tired and exhausted, we reached her place at midnights the previous day, she not only provided hundreds of blankets and hot water to shower, but also brought us mint tea with cookies. Her place was beautiful - we got really lucky that we were able to stay at such a palace. When I came back after my dog bite, she run and brought raw onion that she rubbed on my leg - according to her, that is all I have to do. On some level, I totally believe her, but I am sure rabbi shot is not such a bad idea either.

This is Fatima's place:

In Fes we visited tanneries where we saw the whole process of taking dirty, freshly brought in skin of the animal and turn it into a work of art. Maybe when I make more money I will go back there and buy all of their purses... But for now, the only thing I could do is to look. :) Tannery from above: Soaking leather for three days in white (lime stone) and then coloring it for another few days in spices and herbs (henna, saffron, etc)On every corner of the street there were shops selling spices piled up in different vibrant colors: yellow for saffron, red for paprika, pale beige for ginger, black for pepper, etc. Sandal wood, jasmine and ambre, mint, lavender and rose petals, oils for face and skin, freshly made local soaps and lotions with mints and such... Oh the smells of Fes. And next to the spice shops, there were fruit&vegetable stands where oranges, tangerines, apples, pomegranates, bananas were piled up with ridiculously low prices. Once I even saw a hurma (which was expensive)... And next to those stands there were nougat stands with white, yellow, pink, green nougat and nuts and raisins inside. And next to that there is fresh kafta (grilled meat with herbs) in the fresh bread and dates, raisins, olives, almonds by piles with hundreds of varieties. Really.. coming from a diet of rice and... well... rice... it was totally overwhelming. The food in Morocco is so good, I would want to come back just for it.

If you notice there is a picture in the upper right corner - this is the owner of this shop with Bill Clinton. Apparently this guy provides spices for the White House. I hope Obama likes paprika! I continued to freeze to death. In Chefchuan I purchased a pair of long woolen socks and a woolen jacket. At some nights it was so cold, I slept right in the jacket!

Chefchuan is a blue city of Morocco. Imagine old Arabic town with narrow alleyways, small stone buildings, intricately carved wooden doors and mountains on the background. And now blue wash all of it. It was a surreal experience of being plunged into an ice cave with all that blue-shness around you. However angry or upset you might be - it would not last long in this city. It has this quieting, calming effect even on the most insane minds. We arrived to city rather late, in the dark, tired, not caring for much of the beauty (or seeing it for that matter) around us. Our hotel was a magical little jeweled box turned into a house. Palace from Aladdin or Thousand and One Nights. All interior was covered in beautiful wooden carvings with Islamic designs, mosaics, colored-glass lamps and colored plaster ceilings. There was a fireplace, bottomless teapot with green mint tea, chess table and roof terrace with a superb view of the city. The first day we walked around in owe trying to blue ourselves and exploring every narrow passageway that we could find. One man practically kidnapped us into his carpet shot where we spend an amazing hour laying on his carpets and learning about carpet making industry. Of course he wanted us to buy one, but seriously... What am I going to do with a carpet in The Gambia... put it on the floor of my mud hut, I guess. We had our first tajine - traditional Moroccan meat and vegetable stew with saffron, paprika and olives. We actually liked it so much that we came back the second time for the second plate and to take a picture with our new best friend, an amazing chef with very-easy-to-forget name... I got the recipe and cannot wait to cook it myself. The next day we were hiking in the Rif mountains that surround Chefchuan. Pine forests, huge pine cones, beautiful view of the city and mountain air. Finally I was able to warm myself up a little bit as it is freezing in Morocco at this time a year.

I think it was about 10C and I was practically dying. It is pretty impressive how our bodies adjust to the climate. 1.5 years in The Gambia made me exceptionally tolerant to the heat, but unable to stand even a slightly cold weather.In the afternoon me and Becca went to the traditional hammam for ladies only (men go in the morning), where we had great time pouring hot water on ourselves and seeing Gambian dirt slowly disappearing from our feet... It is pretty crazy how permanently dirty my feet became here. It is kind of impossible to stay clean in the Gambian dust, but hammam was definitely what the doctor ordered...And after two days spend in the magical blue city and its surroundings, we moved to Fes.

Happy Birthday Anna B! Wish you all the best!We landed to Casablanca airport late at night and tiredly went to our Youth hostel. Next morning we had three things to do: get money from ATM, figure out how to get to Chefchuan, our first Moroccan point of interest and see Hassan II mosque. I do not want to bore anyone with details but Hassan II mosque in Casablanca is something absolutely stunning. Colored plaster, mosaics, Turkish and traditional hammam in the basement, cedar sliding roof, murano glass chandeliers....

King Hassan II declared, "I want to build this mosque on the water, because God's throne is on the water. Therefore, the faithful who go there to pray, to praise the creator on firm soil, can contemplate God's sky and ocean." Here is the extract from other sources:"Hassan II Mosque was built between 1986 and 1993 for the 60th birthday of former Moroccan king Hassan II. The Hassan II Mosque has space for 25,000 worshippers inside and another 80,000 outside. The 210-meter minaret is the tallest in the world and is visible day and night for miles around. Although Hassan II Mosque was designed by a French architect, it is Moroccan through and through. Except for the white granite columns and the glass chandeliers, the materials used to construct the mosque were taken from the Morocco region. 6,000 traditional Moroccan artisans worked for five years to turn these raw materials into mosaics, stone and marble floors and columns, sculpted plaster moldings, and carved and painted wood ceilings. The mosque also includes a number of modern touches: it was built to withstand earthquakes and has a heated floor, electric doors, a sliding roof, and lasers which shine at night from the top of the minaret toward Mecca. Many Casablancans have mixed feelings about Hassan II Mosque. On one hand, they are proud that this beautiful monument dominates their city. On the other, they are aware that the expense (estimates range from $500 to 800 million) could have been put to other uses. To build the mosque, it was necessary to destroy a large, impoverished section of Casablanca. The residents did not receive any compensation. " After the mosque we took the 5 hour bus to Chefchuan. A note of interest: Morocco is so Westernised it was kind of shocking to us in the beginning. Buses come on time and leave on time. Those are really buses. With real seats. There are curtains on the windows. There are trash cans on the streets. There are no "hello nice boss lady, would you like some sex" characters. It is just like walking down a regular European city. People are polite and children do not run after you, screaming "White man, toubab! Give me money! Give me sweet!" It was very exciting to be in this type of environment again. It felt too normal, almost weirdly normal. I am too used now to being the point of interest of everybody walking down the street. It is refreshingly comfortable to be able to be invisible once more.

Today we have our Christmas Eve Dinner. We are a little bit ahead of the rest of the planet, because we are leaving tomorrow to Morocco and there will be no place to cook real X-mas dinner or make mulled wine for that matter. Here are my travel companions, Becca and Pete: And early-early morning we crossed the ferry, ate our meager breakfast of tapalapa (local bread) with one hard-boiled egg, mayo and ketchup, and boarded the car heading towards Dakar - our city of departure.The trip started with one day spent in Dakar - we visited Christmas tree in the local mall - an amazing structure of steel and glass and Diesel and Guess... We don't have those in The Gambia, made me feel almost at home. Walked around that crazily-expensive, vibrant, lively, very tiring city. Visited museum, my favorite park and the best bar on top of the tallest building. Relaxed and enjoyed West Africa in its brightest. We stayed in the nice little hostel next to the light house. In the evening, closer to the sunset we decided to climb the light house hill and see if there is anything of interest. Little did we know. As soon as we got close to the actual house we were greeted by the lighthouse operator (third generation on the job) who walked us around, showed us light bulbs from 100 years ago (huge!) and the current light bulbs that they are using (cute!). He even allowed us to climb into the actual glass-rotating-shell of the light. There is this tiny (about 2 -3 inches ) light bulb surrounded by the huge polished glass cage. It reflect the light and sends it many miles across. The contrast between the small tiny bulb and the amount of light it produces is amazing. So are the pictures taken from the inside.And in the evening we left Dakar-Madrid arriving in Madrid at 5 AM the following day. The original plan was to go out into snowy, christmasy Madrid and walk around, enjoying Europe, till our next flight which is at 1 PM. Unfortunately it is not easy to fly out of Africa. On our arrival, after clearing through the passport control, we went to pick up our bags, but alas... Some multiple-legged, poisonous, unknown-to-science (or airport crew), scary African insect was seen in the baggage compartment and the entire aircraft was quarantined for 3 hours with deadly fumes. I have no idea what it was or what they did to our bags. All I know that it was freezing, we could not go anywhere as we had to wait for our bags and it was really really boring. Good thing that I managed to "borrow" an airplane blanket and I spend most of my time in Madrid wrapped in it. Actually it was so cold and so boring that we started doing exercises to the much enjoyment of the proper European crowd. Well, at least we got warmed up.

Finally our bags came and I run to the next terminal as I had only 30 minutes till the closing of my check-in. I get there and they inform me that my flight to Casablanca is canceled and I have to fly to Paris and them, Casablanca... Oh, traveling. How much I hate this thing. On the brighter note they flew me Paris-Casablanca first class and I got to drink champagne, eat cheese, grapes, lamb and chocolate pastries so it was not too bad... :))

.

***

Так дни приходят, годы. На колени

Вставать труднее, легче на носках,

На крыльях. Одинокое творенье –

Тварь-енье – эволюция стиха.

Раскинутся вокзалы. Самолеты

Распустят перья. Легче опоздать

На влет и вылет – где из пулемета

Слова, столетья, снова и опять.

Я в спешке пропущу четверострочье,

Но некому и незачем смотреть.

Стихи приходят тихо. Многоточье...

А жизнь приходит и приводит смерть.

I am starting to post pictures and running narration about our recent trip to Guinea-Conakry. There were 8 cameras and tons of pictures from all participants. So I will be posting the pictures in series. More to come!

So:

Yei, Winnie vsegda so mnoi! This is the 10 minute break in a 8-hour vertical hike of climbing the mountains. It was pretty hard I tell you. But it was all worth it!.

Me and Tara:

My shoes attracted butterflies.. why?

Caves!

Alex and flowers.

Ted climbing rocks: Alex climbing rocks.

Guinea!

Guinea!

Flowers.

Waterfalls, waterfalls, waterfalls... Sitting with Tara and Matt on the edge of the world. Literally.

Same edge of the world. 2 inches to the front and our feet were dangling over an enormous vertical drop. The valley down there has a lot of villages - so do mountains up top. We had to be quete there. Our guide said that the noise made on the drop can be heard down in the villages. That is how immediate news - like invitation to a funeral and so on - get communicated from the mountains to the valley. Crasy. And the trail up that drop was pretty much 90 Degree slope. Amazing hiking! I look happy.

Pretty purple flowers with Ted and Tara as a background:

Danielle, if you can hear me! This is for you: hearts in nature!

Beautiful landscapes with clouds and palm trees and rock formations:

Mountains in the mist and flowers:

Waterfalls roaring 100dth of meters down the rocks:

Us swimming in natural pools right before and after waterfall drops of.

Climbing the rocks to jump into water. God, I was scared, but I did it! It was wonderful:

Much more to come...

Now, people, about this entry of November 1, 2008. I am not depressed. Really! I am not! I was just thinking a little about this and that. I recon it is OK to have some serious thinking done once in a while, no? Don't tell me you don't complain about life. So why can't I? Just a little? No? OK, fine!So yesterday was really exciting! We got new restaurant open in Fajara - it is a city on the outskirts of Banjul, which is the capital of The Gambia. I am avoiding comments because I cannot stop laughing reading the sign... See? I am not in the middle of nowhere! I am practically in the center of the world.... :)

Yes! We! Can!

I am so proud to be an American. Pretty much for the first time in my life. And proud to be employed by the US Government. Now how lame is that? :)

It had been almost one year and a half as I left warm sunny shores of New York City. The first few months were all about being excited from euphoria of being in Africa. Oh the sunsets and baobabs and occasional monkey. The life seemed filled with reason and purpose. There were things to accomplish – easy, achievable things like learning Wolof – and plans to stick to – 2 years in The Gambia, yeah, baby, so happy I am here! Then I started working. Teaching, tutoring, lecturing, databases, research statistics. Wolof was forgotten. Plans were changed. I tried to save the world one little urban district in Western Africa at a time. I started on many projects and was excited for all of them. Just like any other white person coming to Africa I was under the impression that I have answers and solutions. I am the one who knows how to fix things around here. But Africa had seen it all; they come and they go. The long sequence of white people thinking they are what the doctor orders – just to realize that the doctor hadn’t looked at the patient yet.

I will not lie. Teaching was enjoyable. I created manuals and training materials; teaching aids and assignments. Wrote exams, lectured, collected homework. I had 4 classes: Database Structure, Desktop Publishing, HTML, and VB6 and I was truly trying my best to teach them all. But the biggest challenge was not the absence of books, blackboards, computers and occasional black outs. The biggest challenge was explaining logical concepts (as in for-loop and if-else) to people who were never exposed to teaching-by-creatively-thinking-method only to teaching-by-write-and-memorize-method. Desktop Publishing proved to be the hardest thing ever. I tried everything I could to make my students create their own graphical layouts, but failed miserably. At the end we went back to MS Publisher preset designs – now how lame is that? And the rest… The most popular course was Database Structure and Design. There is a very good economical reason for this – right now every single small enterprise in The Gambia wants to have a database. Most of them do not need it or know what it is, but they all want it. Consequently they need someone to build and maintain it for them. Consequently everyone wants to know how to do it, so they can get a job and make some money. It all makes sense as far as logic goes. But then we hit the reality. My students were not so much interested in normalization forms, naming conventions, relationship and table structures. They wanted to know which buttons to press on MS Access so that the form would look nice and pretty. And my American result-conscious mind rebels against teaching MS Access interface since it has nothing to do with Database Structures. How can you build a database if you don’t know anything about it? Right? You got to know how it all works together! But enough technical talk – I am not even sure why I am writing all of this. The point that I am trying to get across is – teaching at higher level seemed like a waste of time. I was taking up a position that could’ve been filled in by a Gambian. I was fighting against the system that nobody else (nor students nor teachers) seemed to mind. As long as the money kept flowing in – teachers were happy. As long as there is a diploma to collect at the end – the students were happy. Information exchange and knowledge transition were not so much part of the picture. Oh well, said Toola, let’s see what else we can do.

Then there was my work at Department of State of Education with their Education Management Information System. Can’t say anything negative (inner joke – smile!) about it, but hard to find anything positive either. Except the amazing people I’ve met there – the actual work was not fulfilling at all. We had some good moments – like training people and solving some technical dilemmas; we had some bad moments – like people not showing up for training and mundane exercises of checking and re-checking for hours the data that we already know is not true. Overall it was just like the job one would have back in the States – and for that reason I was not happy.

So I transferred to teach at small rural school in the middle of nowhere. The logic went as follows: the younger the person is the easier it would be to teach creative thinking and all other wonderful invention of western education system. I haven’t been there for too long but I can already see some problems with that “logical” thinking. And here is the scary part: I stopped caring.

It had been almost one year and a half as I left warm sunny shores of New York City. The euphoria is gone. Africa stopped being exotic and became a place to live. Place to live and work and raise babies. Place that is hot and dusty and does not conform to our idea of quality living. Place that has foreign culture. As much as I try and pretend that I am just like all my Gambian friends… Look! I can carry bucket on my head, and I can put a baby on my back and I can wear colorful clothes and veil my head. I can take heat and mosquitoes just as they can. I can cook and I can wash… But as much as I try to fit in – I cannot. I am just not Gambian. Now why should you be Gambian? some may ask. That is the way Peace Corps works – if you want to help people, you become one of them. Understand and accept first, change, help and develop second. And at that point I hit a wall because it had been almost one year and a half as I left warm sunny shores of New York City and I do not understand anymore what “to develop” mean. Does it mean, to make Gambia like New York? Gambia is a developing country, but who are we to decide which way to develop it. Are we developing it to be like Europe? But Africa is not Europe. Different culture, different mentality, different moral values. And who are we to do the development work? It is not like we developed Western world. It just kind of developed on its own and it had wars, revolutions, genocides, inflations, economic ups and downs along the way. Should we make Africa repeat all those steps in order to get to the blissful state of the developed world? Is it really that blissful? Judging from the Newsweek articles we are far away from living in a perfect world. So why are we trying to make another billion people to join in on the party? Nobody guided the development of Europe. How can we guide the development of Africa? Why are black Gambian children raised in conservative Muslim society are being taught using UK education system? Why am I standing in the classroom explaining the electronic structure of the atom to children who are using pestle and open fire to cook their meals? And who’s fault is that?

So many question marks. So many confused thoughts. Can I help? Should I help? Who am I to tell people what to do? Why am I helping when they are smart and healthy and can definitely help themselves? Knock, and it shall be opened unto you, but they are not knocking! Maybe it is because they don’t want to knock. Maybe they don’t want it to open. Or maybe it is not in their culture to knock. Maybe they prefer to enter through the roof. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

I am in my mid-service crisis right now. Things seem pointless, time seems wasted. I yearn to go home and see my family. I get fed up with little things like my school headmaster not updating class time table and spending most of the time sitting in the shade. He should be teaching! But can you blame him? Smart, young, ambitious Gambian teacher, newly married, gets stuck in my small middle-of-nowhere village. He doesn’t want to teach here. He wants to go to the big school in the big city. He wants to work and live his life. How can I blame him for sulking and hating my small insignificant school? Who am I to judge? But how are children in my village expected to get out of the village and make a name for themselves if no one wants to go to my village to teach them? And here we are again, in the real of question marks that I cannot answer.

I was thinking about extending for the 3rd year – and I do not know anymore. I am not sure I am doing the right thing with my life nowadays. To be quite honest with myself – I never joined Peace Corps to save the world. I new long time ago that the world is old enough to look after itself; it doesn’t need me for that. I joined Peace Corps for many selfish reasons, but I did have good intentions. Now I don’t know anymore why I am here. There are more people who need me back home then need me here. There are much more things I can do in US then I am doing in The Gambia. Sometimes I wonder…

My new site is very exciting. The village is far off the road, about 10k walk through the bush, but I am loving it. It is remote, secluded, the only things you can hear are birds, hyenas, frogs and silence. Butterflies are flying around. Flocks of bright green-yellow parrots are attacking the millet and small boys run through the fields scaring them away.

I have a pretty big family. It is double compound - so I have two fathers, two mothers, and innumerable siblings. I also have a niece, Baby-I, and a nephew, Cherti-Cho, who are the cutest babies in the world (maybe apart from Katya's, Galya's, Sonya's and future coming Tanya's babies.... gosh.. I am missing on this whole friends-having-babies-wave back home, am I not?) We have a donkey that I dubbed (

And of course the surroundings are beautiful.... you bet they are...

About half a year later I am posting some pictures from Italy... just because I have them, the time, internet and energy to do it. Well, and also because they are pretty.

Florence:

Venice :

And that is all I have as we were not using my camera in Rome and other places.... I am in love with Rome. I want to live there. I will live there. One day. It is a promise.

.***

Есть четыре песни у меня.

Отшумят тропические ливни.

Разлились прохладные моря

По степям, поросшими полынью. Улетели птицы, и в бегах

Листопад, перегоняя ветер.

Мне ли петь? – рождается строка,

Умирает, никого не встретив. Песни первой – Бога и людей

Не признаю, верная дороге.

Дней моих мелькает карусель:

Лошади, слоны, единороги. Остановки, поиски, мечты.

Отправляясь в новые походы,

Мне ли ждать? – посажены цветы,

Зажжены закаты и восходы. Там вторая песня – где роса,

Вдох и выдох, сердца перебои,

Вдохновенье и его глаза

В отраженье – назовем любовью. Нежность губ, переплетенье рук

И жестокость, безнадежность судеб.

Разомкнется монолитный круг –

Разойдутся по обрывам люди.Но звучит стройнее, невпопад

Третья песнь – и бесконечность веры,

Белых крыльев белый водопад,

Необъятность Божьего творенья. Где в реке, как в зеркале, звенит

Щебет птиц, проснувшихся с рассветом,

И благоухает эвкалипт,

Листья поворачтвая к свету. Я последней песни никогда

Не ищу. Бесшумная приходит

Как огонь в пожару, как вода

К наводненью, как стервятник к бою.Не прощу бессмысленный уход.

Ни себе – забывши попрощаться,

Ни тебе – необратимый ход,

Безполезность прежних обещаний. Нет тебя. И все вокруг темней.

Ощущая горький вкус потери,

Мне ли плакать? – сколько их, смертей?

Каждый день, с постели, на постеле. Мне ли плакать? – так истерт до дыр

Тростниковый коврик для молений.

Смерть слепа. Ей нужен поводырь.

Вот и весь секрет Полишинеля..***

Есть такое старое преданье:

Собирая слезы в ручейки,

В час, когда не станет мирозданья,

Мы писать разучимся стихи. Только я не вижу этой связи.

Мирозданью слезы нипочем.

Слишком просто в творческом экстазе

Ошибиться, делая подсчет. Я готова выслушать резоны

Не преданий – тиражей газет.

Но темнее стали горизонты,

Словно после похорон друзей. И не раз смеркалось и светало,

Растворяя слезы в ручейках.

Этот час, когда его не стало,

Не опишешь ни в каких стихах..***

Краской вечерней замазаны стекла,

Тихо синеет высь.

Время прощенья. Различия стерты

Сотен падении вниз. И перемены отслежены. Всуе

Имя твое звучит.

Кто-то поверит – заголосует,

Кто-то поймет – смолчит. Кто подсчитает? Запреты на веру.

Мне ли, тебе ли? Кто

Вспять повернет непокорное время,

Перегоняя стон? Кто объяснит? Золотистые тени

Прячут листву в листве.

Время прощанья, безмолвно растенья

Прошелестят в ответ........................................................Мною оставлена эта попытка.

Смерти твоей одна

Выразит всю невозможность и пытку

Сумерек тишина..

.

***

Здесь небо стремится к колоннам

И Город кочует в веках.

Застыла коленопреклонна

Веселых туристов толпа.

И видимо белые крылья

Всё в моде с начала начал.

Пегасы, архангелы или

Один поднебесный причал -

Земное подножие веры -

Взлетает собор с небеса.

Во след поднимают Венеры

Изыскано-нежно глаза.

И та же - извечна! - дорога

Ведет от холмов до холмов.

Мелькнёт белоснежная тога

На фоне бетонных домов.

И кружат, сбиваются в стаи

Здесь голуби. Словно во сне:

Покрытые пылью сандалии,

Отсветы закатов в вине.

И древние, древние боги,

Вас выше и тише – крестом

Святым осенит в Пантеоне

Мария с младенцем Христом.

Я тихо шепчу: До свиданья!

И Город прошепчет в ответ:

Разгромы, пожары, восстанья,

Извечно-немеркнущий свет...

Богов по неторной дороге,

Проложенной в Город с небес –

Столетий ли мало ли, много ль?

И мало ли, много ль чудес?

.

.

* * *

Я открываю ставни и в окно

Влетает запах спелых апельсинов.

Колышется мгновение – на дно

Тихонько опустилась Хиросима.

Не пропусти бегущей-по-волнам.

Внезапно задохнувшись кислородом,

Он второпях закручивает кран,

Четыре с половиной оборота.

Тридцатый век. И тянет в темноту

Бурлящим, бело-вспенненым прибоем

Её судьба – ему невмоготу,

Не продохнуть, не стать самим собою.

Взлететь, войти и, с крыльев отряхнув

Холодный снег подводной Фудзиямы,

Преобразиться. Цитрусовый фрукт

Растет себе под Тихим океаном.

Тридцатый век. Закаты неспеша

Сиренево-пурпурной акварелью

Раскрасят небо, хижины; душа

В распаде водорода, настроенья.

Вдыхая воздух – серой и огнем,

Извечный шум тропического ливня.

Я открываю двери и в проём

Влетают пули пятого калибра.

Проходит дождь, сбивая на прицел

Бутоны лилий в глиняные лужи.

И апельсины светятся, как цель

Для дальнобойных, в будущем, оружий.

* * *

Ты ушел. На пороге начала

Потихоньку прощалась весна.

Я считала минуты молчанья

Своего непробудного сна.

Поднимают ресницы драконы

И печальный играет мотив

Укрощенное средневековье,

Упрощенный речитатив.

Ветер, ветер и песни-трещётки

Соблазнительно хрупких цикад.

Моё сердце отбило чечётку

И в руке задержалась рука

На секунду. Так сразу свиданье

Обретает в себе чистоту

Невозможного. По мирозданью

Две души одиноко бредут.

И напрасно цветы апельсинов

Осыпались фатой лепестков...

Вот и всё. Обернись через силу,

Напиши пару-тройку стихов.

.

Bye, I moved. No internet for a while. Am loving it. Miss everyone but will be back soon!

=P