Africans

Africans

He is black as a vulture;
teeth gleam like bleached bones.
He drives a taxi in a flowing boubou
and preys gently on tourists.
He has eight children;
statistically, he ought to have lost at least one,
but thanks Allah that this is not the case.
He can charm a German granny,
delight an old Dutch maid
or will simply escort you round the craft market,
"Anything you want, boss lady!"
He dreams of air conditioning, and chicken every day.

She is a pure woman
and cheerful as chips, considering.
Considering how her genitalia were crudely mutilated
when she was ten years old
and how her husband is idle
and her children malnourished
and how she has to carry water and grind millet
even when she's racked with malaria.
But she comes through it
and does not fear cellulite nor death
but hopes that you will buy her pineapple.

He wears a radiant white shirt, tasteful tie,
dark slacks and shiny, shiny shoes,
his creases machete-sharp.
He peers through thick glasses
like the man in the Halifax advert
but can dance far better!
He is an accountant;
for him at least, time matters,
so he straps it to his wrist.
He can feed his wife and family
and pay for basic education.
He too is African, but has made it.