Weak coffee to stay awake in the gloom of a
darkened office, blinds drawn against Africa’s
sun burning with incandescence destroying life,
head compressed, pressure forcing down every
thought – and a black burka skirt in the freezer
As protection against the flames burning from
the pavements and streets, a spray can and a
frozen bottle of water to wet my head when dis-
comfort becomes too much; my brain has been
destroyed to the point that I have no capacity
To retain positive feelings which sink as soon as
I tasted their joy and elation – leaving me with the
the bitter taste of hopelessness and fatigue – this
is no life, it’s merely a sad existence and only the
challenge of trying to survive the murderous march
Later in the day, gives a sense of purpose to this
quiet struggle against the overpowering blackness
which reigns on the inside behind the light…
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