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dreaming; he knew that bells do not transform to lanterns as they ring. But still he felt no reverence for the sight. Instead he looked down at his feet, which were bleeding and so formed perfect rivulets of joy. Crossing the World There is a photograph of her beside a Baobab tree near Shehu's Palace. In the rainy season I walk with her by Lake Chad, where the flies are dense as Michigan mosquitoes. Words roll across your tongue and leave their blessing: cassava, Yerwa, Bornu-Kanem, 
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Salah, mango, neem, hamartan. In August I am back again and we ride down Bama Road. At the University we stand before El-kanemi Hall, grow dizzy in the heat, and speak in voices we no longer hear as ours. The world is flat here. At any moment we will fall off the edge and won't come back. In January she sends me a drawing of a gecko near the River Alo. I look out my window and imagine the rolling power outages each morning. We step down into the market on Ahmadu Bellu Road.  |
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