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Also read God Save Africa by Doug Scott

First Kiss
Doug Scott
March 11, 2004

© 2004 by Doug Scott
All rights reserved

There's someone new in my life,
And I wanted to know
Before we began,
If we should begin
Could begin
Safely as one.

So, here I am
In a dreary,
Waiting room
With fear baked
On the walls,
As we all
Try to pass the time,
Hoping we'll still have
Time
When this is over.

To distract us from
Where we are,
Volunteers on death row,
Prisoners of our need to know,
They've given us
The popular musician
"Tuku" on a TV video
And life as he sings it,
Is sweet
A thing of rhythm and dance
And laughter and smiling.

Three convent girls in uniform,
With nervous eyes
Are worried,
That someone
Will see them,
While young men try to be
Above it all
And a couple
Tries to be sensible
And a woman displays
A body
That would have men
Crowding her in a bar,
And another woman
Ties a baby on her back
And everyone calls
An older man,
"Baba."

Mine is the only white face,
My eyes touch living
Black and brown
Across the room.
Here I am in Africa.
The Africa
Of townships, tired buses
And endless queues.
And up at 4:00 o'clock
To get to work on time

Does our humanity
Touch across the room?
Can you feel
How I have insulated myself
From you?
With my nice white house,
Behind the walls,
In a quiet,
Northern suburb.

From where I sit
I can see the door
Of one of the private,
Counselling rooms,
A young man comes out smiling
Obviously, a lottery winner.

A nickname
On your file
Protects your privacy;
They call that name,
I step into a
Private room
In my mind,
Where half of me
Is somewhere else
And I don't want to hear.

Match the numbers
Match the name,
As stars hold their breath,
While a single word
Slides off the paper.
And on to a tongue
Of sympathy with
Professional firmness
And tissues ready
If I want to cry...

Negative

I don't feel like a winner,
I am completely shattered,
She tells me that 3 out of 10
Of her clients that day
Were positive.

I step out into
The cool evening air
Of Harare
Where street boys
Count their change
And play chequers
With bottle tops
And the office workers
Are going home

Some of the people
I sat with are dying:
The Convent girls in uniform
And the young men,
And the sensible couple,
The body woman,
The baby woman,
And the man they call,
"Baba."

I walk away in a silent prayer
For the strange ordeal we shared
And so deep is the fear
Of what happened there
That for days
I cannot imagine
Sex as sweet,
A thing of rhythm and dance
And laughter and smiling.

Doug Scott is an American writer from Cleveland who grew up rowing in Philadelphia. As a young man, he went to the 60's in California and moved on to become a cowboy, construction worker in Arizona. He married a Zimbabwean in 1980 and they moved to Africa where he has lived since 1981. He is a published poet and co-author of two travel books, Struik, Cape Town, 1996. Both, like his marriage, unfortunately out of print now, but very grateful for the three children.

Doug is a hiker, a camper and ballroom dancer...living in the paradox of Africa: the intense confusion of feelings for the people, the birds and animals of the African bush and the pain of what happens here.

Write to Doug at zdoug@mweb.co.zw

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