Africa is

Lamu

LAMU The worn sails fray that the wind swells like the bellies of young brides full of child trilling they glide lightly over the rippled waters abandoning themselves to geometric fantasies drawing the shadows of this perpendicular sun

Every breath is gathered in the mother’s womb wind energy that materializes in movement from dawn to dusk and then peace in the night adorned by the rustle of palms and by the lament of the tide that withdraws its tendrils shutting itself into a hermetic mystery only to burst out again, invading hiding everything that boldly had dared to show itself like an Arab woman who quickly hides her face when she meets your gaze in the street

Lamu - Kenya, January 1988.