Days Written by and for Nina Simone

Day 18: September 10, 2008

“The kiss of his memory made pictures of love and light against the wall. Here was peace. She pulled in her horizon like a great fishnet. Pulled it from around the waist of the world, and draped it over her shoulder. So much of life in its meshes! She called in her soul to come and see.” ~ Zora Neal Hurston in Their Eyes were Watching God

It’s not so hard to romanticize a place that has so successfully edited out physical affection. Magic, or the sparks of light that sprinkle our favorite memories, dart in and out of their hiding places in moments that I would otherwise consider commonplace. Magic appears in the preparation of Iftar, when the knee buckling aroma of mansef mixes with pining tummies and tongues. It’s in the constant wafts of coffee and cologne that visit foreign nostrils even without a clear source. It’s hiding away in abandoned classrooms to sneak sips of water and chunks of heaven sent falafel. Sparks fly in the forbidden looks of tenderhearted lovers and their equally restless counterparts. Love may be forced out of sight in this part of the world but she is most certainly alive and thriving in the shadows of the everyday. People here tend to shuffle all things political and sexual under the rug below the coffee table. While I appreciate this newfound silence, I also question its efficacy and sustainability.

As my host mother quips, “Americans are very straight [she means direct]. Here, not so.”

Throughout all this business, I find that I may never “arrive” here. My heart too readily explores and embraces the “routine” as something altogether different and blessedly polymelodic.

Peace.