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AFRICAN IMAGES
Glimpses from a Tiger’s Back
    i
    Beads around my neck
    Mt. Kenya away over pineappled hills
    Kikuyuland.
    ii
    A book of poems
    Mt. Kenya’s
    Bluish peaks
    “Wangari!” *
    My new name.
    iii
    A green copse
    And hovering
    Quivering
    Near our bus
    A shy gazelle.
    iv
    morning mists
    On the road
    an Elephant
    He knows
    his rights.
    v
    A strange noise!
    “Perhaps an elephant
    is eating our roof”
    In the morning
    much blue.
    vi
    A tall warrior
    and at his feet
    only
    Elephant bones.
    vii
    Elephant legs
    In a store
    To hold
    Umbrellas.
    viii
    A young man
    Puts a question
    In his language
    I invariably
    End up
    Married.
    ix
    The clear Nile
    A fat crocodile
    Scratches his belly
    And yawns.
    x
    The rain forest
    Red orchids—glorious!
    And near one’s eyes
    The spinning cobra.
    xi
    A small boat
    A placid lake
    Suddenly at one’s hand
    Two ears—
    Hippopotamus.
    xii
    An ocean of grass
    A sea of sunshine
    And near my hand
    Water buffalo.
    xiii
    See! through the trees!
    A leopard in
    the branches—
    No, only a giraffe
    Munching his dinner.
    xiv
    Fast rapids
    Far below
    Begins
    The lazy Nile.
    xv
    A silent lake
    Bone strewn banks
    Luminous
    In the sun.
    xvi
    Uganda mountains
    Black soil
    White snow
    And in the valley
    Zebra.
    xvii
    African mornings
    Are not for sleeping
    In the early noon
    The servant comes
    To wake me.
    xviii
    Very American
    I want to eat
    The native food—
    But a whole goat!
    xix
    Holding three fingers
    The African child
    Looked up at me
    The sky was very Blue.
    xx
    In the dance
    I see a girl
    Go limp
    “It is a tactic”
    I think.
    xxi
    “America!?”     “Yes.”
    “But you are like
    my aunt’s cousin
    who married so-and-so.”
    “Yes, (I say), I know.”
    xxii
    On my knees
    The earringed lady
    Thinks I’m praying
    She drops her sisal
    and runs.
    xxiii
    “You are a Negro?”
    “Yes”
    “But that is a kind
    of food—isn’t it—
    the white man used to
    eat you???”
    “Well—”
    xxiv
    Unusual things amuse us
    A little African girl
    Sees my white friend
    And runs
    She thinks he wants her
    For his dinner.
    xxv
    The fresh corpse
    Of a white rhinoceros
    His horn gone
    Some Indian woman
    Will be approached
    Tonight.
    xxvi
    The man in the
    Scarlet shirt
    Wanted to talk
    but had no words—
    I had words
    but no Scarlet
    Shirt.
    xxvii
    floating shakily down the
    nile
    on my rented raft
    I try to be a native
    queen
    a prudent giraffe
    on the bank
    turns up
    his nose.
    xxviii
    We eat Metoke *
    with three fingers—
    other things
    get two fingers
    and one of those
    a thumb.
    xxix
    That you loved me
    I felt sure
    Twice you asked
    me gently
    if I liked the
    strange
    gray
    stew.
    xxx
    Pinching both my legs
    the old man kneels
    before me on the
    ground
    his head white
    Ah! Africa’s mountain
    Peaks
    Snow to grace
    eternal spring!
    xxxi
    To build a hut
    One needs mud
    and sisal
    And friendly
    Neighbors.
    xxxii
    Where the glacier was
    A lake
    Where the lake is
    Sunshine
    And redheaded
    Marabou storks.
    xxxiii
    On a grumpy day
    An African child
    Chants “good morning”
    —I have never seen
    Such bright sun!
    xxxiv
    The Nairobi streets
    At midnight
    Deserted
    The hot dog man
    Folds up his cart.
    xxxv
    In Nairobi
    I pestered an
    Indian boy to
    Sell me a
    Hat
    For five shillings—
    How bright
    His eyes were!
    xxxvi
    In a kunzu
    Long and white
    Stands my African
    Dad
    The sound of drums
    Fills
    The air!
    xxxvii
    On my brother’s motorcycle
    The Indian mosques
    And shops fade behind us
    My hair takes flight
    He laughs
    He has not seen such hair
    Before.
    xxxviii
    An African girl
    Gives me a pineapple
    Her country’s national
    Flower
    How proudly she
    Blinks the eye
    Put out
    By a sharp pineapple
    Frond.
    I wonder if I should
    Kneel
    At her bare little
    Feet?
    xxxix
    At first night
    I sat alone
    & watched the
    sun set
    behind
    the
    aberdares
    During
    the day
    my legs
    and the sun
    belonged
    to
    the village
    children.
    xl
    Under the moon
    luminous
    huts. …
    Brown breasts stuck
    out to