Friends

Scene: two tourists upon their arrival

“Isn’t this great? What a tub? Wonder when they built it—must be before the war.”

“Is it safe, do you think?”

Matano smiles to himself. He looks out at the ferry, and allows himself to see it through their eyes.

Stomach plummets: fear, thrill. Trippy. So real. Smell of old oil, sweat and spices. So exotic.

Color: women in their robes, eyes covered, rimmed with Kohl; other women dark and dressed in skirts and blouses looking drab; other women sort of in-between cultures, a chiffon blouse, and a wraparound sarong with bright yellow, green, and blue designs. Many people are barefoot. An old Arab man, with an emaciated face and a hooked nose, in a white robe, sitting on a platform above, one deformed toenail sweeping up like an Ali Baba shoe. A foot like varnished old wood, full of cracks. He is stripping some stems and chewing the flesh inside. There is a bulge on one cheek, and he spits and spits and spits all the way to the mainland. Brownish spit lands on some rusty metal, pools and trickles, slips off the side onto some rope that lies coiled on the floor.

The tourists’ eyes are transfixed: somewhere between horror and excitement. How real! Must send a piece to Granta.

Same scene through Matano’s eyes:

Abdullahi is chewing miraa again, a son of Old Town society: banished son of one of the Coast’s oldest Swahili families, who abandoned the trucking business for the excitement of sex, drugs, and Europop (had a band that did Abba covers in hotels, in Swahili, dressed in kanzus: Waterloo, niliamua kukupenda milele . . . ). Now he is too old to appeal to the German blondes looking for excitement in a hooked nose, and cruel desert eyes. To the Euro-wielding market, there are no savage (yet tender) Arab sheiks in Mills and Boon romance books anymore; Arabs are now gun-toting losers, or compilers of mezze platters, or servers of humus, or soft-palmed mummy’s boys in European private schools. There are no Abba fans under sixty, now that everyone listens to Eminem and Tupak.

this is sorta wonderful. i know there are other artists who recreate childhood photos, but in this case, the motion makes the meaning.

This is from the "Best of 2009" "challenge" that I am "doing." The original post is here!

December 15 Best packaging. Did your headphones come in a sweet case? See a bottle of tea in another country that stood off the shelves?

I don't really care about packaging and honestly wish I could buy items without it, for the most part. I think it is extremely wasteful. So instead, I will write about my favorite clothes this year, which you could say is my own personal packaging! My favorite items this year were:

1. A navy blue Acne cashmere sweater dress. Definitely the best value I got this year. It's held up beautifully well to multiple wearings, and it's so soft and perfectly comfortable yet drape-y and just a perfect item, really. I'm so happy with it.

2. Dark brown Frye harness boots. Sometimes I think I have the ability to conjure fashion to me, because I was thinking to myself how much I wanted a pair of these, and lo and behold a week later, there they were in Beacon's Closet, and in my size! (This never happens; no one wears a size 6.) They are me; I am them.

3. I went on a "serious lingerie" kick and got some beautifully cut Eres knickers and the results were yowza in every way. I can probably get one pair a year and only during the yearly sale, but I'm willing to wait.

December 16 Tea of the year. I can taste my favorite tea right now. What's yours?

The lychee bubble tea I can get at Lerner Hall up at Columbia. That stuff is like crack. For this past fall semester, I lived off of it. I swing by, get my daily dose and then head to the library to write and write for hours. Awesome.

But honestly, I don't want to talk about tea...I want to talk about perfume! For this was the year that I discovered that there are beautiful tuberose perfumes. Not nasty old lady ones, but subtle, lovely, sensual ones. Frederic Malle Carnal Flower was my favorite, it has a bit of green snap to it and dries down to something musky and woody. Noix de Tubereuses by Miller Harris had a certain Oriental sultriness to it that I found intriguing. But Carnal Flower was my favorite, so much so that I was so thrilled to pieces when my best friend came back from Paris with a sample. It's so expensive, but whew, it's wonderful.

I also wore Christian Dior Homme, Dior Pure Poison and finished off a bottle of Helmut Lang.

December 17 Word or phrase. A word that encapsulates your year. "2009 was _____."

Everytime I used the word "BLAMMO" in my writing, I had a good time.

December 18 Shop. Online or offline, where did you spend most of your mad money this year?

Uniqlo. And Ekovaruhuset, but only during sales.