Ya Wayli: There Are Troubles
I cannot think more, but Yussef says, Habibi, laysh? You have changed. Bah! I say. Sa’b giddan. What are words—diamonds even—compared to stars? Yet when I see the moon rise over the Blue Dunes, feel myself sink in the pool by the well, and at night, wrapping myself in crude blankets on my rooftop cot . . .
The Island of Touches
Before I left, I called a friend of a friend. Oh yes, this person said, Africa had changed her forever. I asked how; she told me she’d been in Kenya for only a week. But once a woman had touched her gently on the shoulder.