Waiting on the Africana Writing Muse

I’ve been trying to write something for over a week.

I’m not going to call writer’s block. I’m going to shake it off by making some photographs.

Ah, nothing much is happening there; except I did manage to salvage a mediocre sunrise.

So, I’ll next do some research. Cynthia and I are overdue for some new laptops; let’s go to the YouTube rabbit hole of Top-10 lists of 'Best laptops for 2023'. As long as I keep it moving, the Africana creative writing muse will show up, and I’ll be able to write something.

In Cabo Verde, we have these lojas, or stores, that are also called mercados.
This past Thursday, I went to our neighborhood mercado to pick up a few things, including some dish detergent. The lighting was dim, and the cashier was trying to tell me something as I was bagging my groceries as fast as he was registering them.
And the lady behind me was putting her stuff on the counter just as fast as I was making room for them.

The second problem was that he spoke Kriolu, Portuguese, French, and Patois.
I only speak English. Third problem; he was speaking all the languages and break-neck speed, hoping that I would grab one.

“Sinhor, I speak little Kriolu, but I speak English”. I sucked out ALL of the air in this loja with that. Everyone was laughing or moaning. Children were looking at me as if I were a science project. The lady behind me was steadily crowding the counter. I handed the clerk some bills and kept bagging my stuff. Before the clerk could hand me my change, he had to wait on the impatient Nigerian (I’m told I ‘look’ Nigerian and this guy looked like me) who was buying just ‘one’ cigarette. The lady behind me was also buying some dish detergent; and guess what?

Friday, when I returned one of the two dish detergent bottles that were in my bags, I had to explain to the clerk what had happened. I was prepared. I had written down kriolu words to use. I also had my receipt. I was on it! However, this clerk didn’t grasp the concept of ‘returning product’. She thought I wanted to buy ALL of the stuff on the receipt a second time.

“No, sinhóra; I don’t want to buy more orange juice...” She calls for some guy, outside, who knows a little English. (Oh shit, it’s the guy who bought the ‘one’ cigarette last evening.)

“I tell her you want to return the detergent because you didn’t buy it. Yes, she understands you. She understands. She just wants to know if you want to buy more orange juice.”

“No, Obrigadu. Can I go now?”

Ironically, I become less of a stranger day by day. And I feel more African by the minute. Now, that’s something to write about!

Asé

Peace & Blessings,
“Guided by the Ancestors”