While the subwaytrain runs from one dark tunnel into the other and I am nervously aware where I keep my moeny, the words and images decorating my fearful world speak about love, gentleness, tenderness and about a joyful togetherness of spontaneous people.
"(...) 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.
Comentários
Serão essas imagens e palavras que despreparam a pessoa para o mundo, tornando-o ameaçador?