Mist on Pieces of Banana
Jonuel Gonçalves© 2020
(Translated by Paul Southern© 2020)
I woke, it was already
dark, it must have been the soft drizzly mist on my face that woke me. By that
time I reckon I’d been out about seven hours. I don’t remember falling, but I do
know it happened slowly, and it was probably about 11 o’clock in the morning, the
sun was burning hot, but I had to cross that stretch of the savanna in order to
hitch a lift and go on. Moreover, while I was slowly falling I remembered that
I only remembered you, and now on waking I could actually hear you breathing
here next to me. I needed a moment to work out where I was and what I was doing
here on the ground with that soft drizzly mist constantly on my face, it was as
though it were you whispering to me. You were. You talk to me everywhere even
when you believe I’m not thinking about you. I am, and your voice comes like
soft drizzle on the parched savannah, saving my life, that’s for sure. I must
have collapsed for lack of water; I was parched, but the risk of turning back
or going on was the same, and now my face and lips are wet. I opened my mouth and
eyes together, crazy for water much more than food, even though a whole day
without food doesn’t help on a long trek. I stayed on my back, then I turned
the other way, and let the drizzle soak through my clothes. Thirst like this is only quenched if there’s unlimited water. Then I heard
your voice in my left ear, it made me look that way, ahead was that banana tree.
It was lonelier than me with its teeth-marked fruit, eaten I think by bats, but
here I go, I’ll eat what’s left and it’ll keep me going. It can only be sixty
kilometres to the highway, I’ll get there tomorrow.
While ever I was
walking that morning and even when I collapsed with thirst I wasn’t afraid, but
now I am. I’m always like that when there’s danger, I withstand it and face it,
afterwards I begin to think the worst, and that’s where not allowing myself to
stand still for too long comes in. I have to walk, to walk a lot, and a long
way. I wish you could come with me but you’re not going to do such a crazy
thing, you hope that I’ll return after a few days, a few weeks, a few months,
but always less than a year. Not even that damned war scared me at the time,
but it shattered things here inside my head to the point that today I’m afraid of
it starting again even though I don’t see any sign of it, or else I see signs
of it without it being there. Today everyone wears a mask and just forgets the
reason for these millions of masks on people with suspicious eyes. So I say, damn
it, here goes that same old story of, ‘a clear and immediate threat,’ starting
all over again.
To stay still for
a long time isn’t good for me. I’ve never done any harm to anyone, that’s the
way I think, when I’m walking I’m free from those shattered pieces inside my
head, I’m at peace and I’m not scared of anything. It’s only you that I miss,
that’s why I can’t get you out of my head or my ears, it’s my defence against
things shattering. Tomorrow I’ll be on the road. I’m going to walk all night. I
hope there won’t be any deep holes on the track or any snakes in the
undergrowth. I always reach the highway and someone always stares at me in
amazement, but lets me into their car or truck. Just another week and I’ll be
home. Thank you for having sent the drizzle.
*Cacimbo nos
pedaços de banana - Mist on Pieces of Banana.
The phenomenon of
thick fog or mist on Angola’s western seaboard is influenced by the Benguela
Current. In Angola it is known as cacimbo which also denotes the
country’s cool, dry season. Translator
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