The High street
The Radcliffe Camera
From inside the Bodleian Library
I left Mombasa, island of raha (hapiness),
To emigrate to America, land of opportunity.
Forsook the tropical sun
For cold frigid weather.
Left behind the warm ocean breeze
For the windchill of winter.
Abandoned white pristine beaches
For brown muddy shores.
Turned away from a turquoise ocean
For polluted lakes.
Gave up mangoes, papaya, mabuyu, achari and sunflower
For processed apples, pears, peaches and cherries.
Gave up white snapper and king fish
For boxed cod and sole.
Gave up mishkaki, nyama choma mahambri and bharazi
For cereal, bagels,cheese, and salads
Gave up drinking coconut water straight from the coconut
And settled for bottled water.
Left behind the street coffee seller
For the office coffee pot.
Left behind the exotic fragrance of phapa and langi langi
For the pungent smell of sulfuric emissions.
Deprived of hearing the call to prayer
For the sound of police and fire sirens.
Deprived of seeing women clad in mysterious black buibui
For women dressed in jeans and miniskirts.
Deserted a slow relaxed pace of life
For the fast lane.
Gave up afternoon naps
For gym workouts.
Gave up riding a bicycle through the narrow streets
For driving a car on the highways.
Discontinued a course on the coral marine life
For a course in stress management.
Discarded mud and thatched dwellings
For concrete and steel.
Left behind a community-based life
For a human zoo.
It makes me wonder
If I have also left my soul behind in Mombasa?
