Felizmente, o excesso do gozo tanto debilita a imaginação como a faculdade de julgar. O sofrimento dorme então com a virilidade e tão longamente como ela. Pelas mesmas razões, os adolescentes perdem com a primeira amante a inquietação metafísica, e certos casamentos, que são deboches burocratizados, tornam-se, ao mesmo tempo, os monótonos carros mortuários da audácia e da inventiva. Sim, caro amigo, o casamento burguês pôs o nosso país em pantufas e em breve o porá às portas da morte.
"(...) My daughter, she has no use for night runners. You know, her first language is not Luo. Not even Swahili. It is english. When I listen to her talk with her friends, it sounds like gibberish to me. They take bits and pieces of everything - English, Swahili, German, Luo. Sometimes, I get fed up with this. Learn to speak one language properly, I tell them." Rukia laughed to herself. "But I am beggining to resign myself - there's nothing really to do. They live in a mixed-up world. It's just as well, I suppose. In the end, I'm less interested in a daughter who's authentically African than one who is authentically herself." It was getting late; we thanked Rukia for her hospitality and went on our way. But her words would stay with me, bringing into focus my own lingering questions.
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