We wandered the streets of Lamu’s archipelago. A labyrinth of sandy streets, coral crusty stone walls and washed terracotta verandas. Merchants sat outside their intricately carved wooden doors selling leather sandals, curios and saddle bags. Just as cultures brewed some 800 years ago, so do the fragrances trapped in these alley ways…. My hands ran over carved lotus flower, rosette, frankincense tree and date palms etched into the wood, telling an interwoven tale of the Omani, Indian, and Portuguese who once called this land home, a unmatchable character fused in the grains of each carving and each doorway. I felt my soul latch itself onto the ambience. Excited to explore, hearts full of joy, we sprawled the tinny tapestry of streets, that literally throw you back in time and stood still to give us a chance to absorb life on a trade route.
We finally made way to our destination, we walked though one of the many intricately designed wooden doors, laddered with pink bougainvillaea. I could hear the call to prayer, my heart somewhat felt heavy. We stood still in our tracks… probably because we knew that in a few steps ahead, time will begin its clock……replace it with nostalgia, footsteps and memories. A breath taking view of a cosy courtyard with shaded coconut palms and scattered rose bushes… A thin blue lining of the Indian ocean masked the horizon. A peaceful sensation ran through my fingers curled over his, warmed by our journey, as I uncurled them, our tips left confused, a gentle beg, not to.
An amaranthine affair, rapt in desire. Undercurrents of a felicitous primal urge, lustfully escaping us as we plunged deeper into an anagram of our friendly encounter. Not meant to be but had to be. A wooden dhow floating, a man stood half kneed in water, was waiting to take us home. His lips that tasted of afternoon champagne and tobacco smoke whispered ‘shall I see you again?’ A tense embrace, a farewell, an allegory of impulsiveness.
I celebrate insouciance.
