Althea Romeo-Mark’s blog

A Summer Pleasure II

Last night after walking home through downtown Basel and along the River Rhine, I joined friends at Beach City, a local entertainment facility or night club located on the roof of a nine story building. Since there is no beach with white sand in Basel, the management of Beach City has brought the beach to us.  There is a saying which goes something like this, "If you can't take Mohammed to the mountain, bring the mountain to Mohammed."

The facility is layed on like a beach, sand and coconut trees and everything that gives you a Pacific or Caribbean island feel. The sand is real, and there is a swimming pool too where one can jump if it gets too hot or if you have had too much to drink and you are out of your mind. You can choose to take your sandals off and walk around, lie down in the sand on a beach towel or relax in a lounge chair or play beach volleyball if that suits your fancy.  For other folks like me, who come from the Caribbean, this is no substitute, only the real thing would do, you might not be in the mood to get sand in your shoes.  If you are not from the Pacific or the Caribbean, the atmosphere is tropical, young and rather fantastic. There is  music blaring of course, and lots of young people enjoying the evening after a day's work or just meeting up with friends as I was doing. Perhaps ninety percent of the people were under thirty-five and made me want to be young again, but only that.  I do not wish to relive the follies of youth.

So if you didn't want to dig your feet in the sand, there were other areas where you could sit around a table and chat if you could compete with the music in the background.  There were lots of backless seatings for the young, and we older folks had to find seatings with backs since we didn't want to further strain what is left of our deteriorating "Rücken." Surveying the area, one could see that is was rather huge and spread out under the stars. So that we could have done some star-gazing if we wished to do so. And some people did. There was no entrance fee and the coke I drank seemed rather reasonable at five Franks.  It was rather a pleasant way to round off what began as a beautiful evening.

A Summer Pleasure

I just walked home from Guterstrasse, through downtown Basel and along the Rhine River to my home near it.  It took me 55 minutes.  I can only do this in the summer when I have less teaching hours.  It felt really wonderful walking through the city and watching people drinking and eating in sidewalk cafes and restaurants. Along the Rhine from the Mittler Brücke (Middle Bridge) to the Dreirosen Brücke ( Three Roses Bridge) there were people taking sunbaths on the many steps which lead into the River. The edge of the river was also crowded. Some small boats were riding the lazy waves. Good swimmers swam while others fished.  I was surprised at the amount of people there lying on the grass, or sitting at picnic tables. I passed an African man lighting a coal pot as he prepared to barbecue meat and chicken for his friends.  He was not the only one. The smoke and smell of barbecuing filled the air.  The restaurants along the Rhine were crowded with people standing in lines waiting to be served. The food at these restaurants must have been very good.  While many were eating, others were walking their dogs, or pushing prams or simply walking hand in hand enjoying the warm summer evening before the sun disappears around 9:30 p.m. I finally arrived home at 8:35 p.m. I have to do this more often.

Check Points and  Curfews

I

The Birthing of Check Points

 

A man with whom

we share a common ancestry,

claims he has been anointed by God.

We do not see with his eyes.

 

His disciples, anointed by witches’ oils,

have become invisible,

devour enemy warriors,

drink their blood,

have made themselves invincible.

 

They leave ashes

where quiet villages stood.

The spirit of revenge

flirt with many hearts

as churches, the sanctuary

of the wretched, gather skeletons.

IV

Curfew

Imprisoned dust to dawn,

women dare not go in labor.

We dare not get bitten by

snake or scorpion. We dare not fall into

a hallucinating malaria fever.

The trip in wheelbarrow

to the nearest healer,

will be our death warrant.

 

The village comes to life

when the cocks crow.

We close our doors when

chickens nod in their coop.

 

Do not give the soldier an excuse

to be ”boss-man,” do not give him

a reason to test his weapon.

There might be no time

to place a cross on your grave.

We do not want you buried

like diseased cattle.

© Althea Romeo-Mark  1995           Revised 11.06.09

 

 

Art Basel http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=1109243613782&saved#/video/video.php?v=1109243613782&ref=mf

Moko Jumbi

I

The masked thing dances.

Long stilt legs leap,

sway and swing in abandon

to the tune of steel pans.

.

Peacock proud,

it lifts its colorful can-can,

spins and swirls its

layered rainbow.

 

II

The young ask,

does the devil hide behind the mask?

Will it kick and growl

if we touch it?

 

Will we melt like metal,

disappear before its steely stare?

Will it banish us to hell?

Should we take refuge?

 

 

III

The country devil in you is long dead.

You, who doled out death

to women and the uninitiated,

now mock your ancestors.

 

Women, under the spell

of bacchanal,

dare you to strike

the deadly blow.

 

Does the spirit world

cry for its loss?

You now stir laughter

and not fear.

 

Jumbi, you jam with us,

mock your past,

mask your loss

in the revelry of carnival.

 

© 07.06.2009 Althea Romeo-Mark

A moko jumbie (also known as "moko jumbi" or "mocko jumbie") is a stilts walker or dancer. The origin of the term may come from "Moko" (a possible reference to an African god) and "jumbi", a West Indian term for a ghost or spirit that may have been derived from the Kongo language word zumbi. The Moko Jumbies are thought to originate from West African tradition brought to the Caribbean.

A Moko Jumbie character may wear colorful garb and carnival masks. They also frequent festivals and celebrations such as Caribbean Carnival.

Wikipedia

I've got a book poems, If Only the Dust Would Settle:Selected Poems (Würd sich der Pulverdampf endlich verziehn), coming out soon.  The poems are in English and German and they are interwoven into a personal essay which contemplates the meaning of home.  It takes the reader on a journey from the Caribbean, to the USA, to Liberia, West Africa, to England and finally to Switzerland.

Book is available at www.amazon.com, www.borders.co/authorhouse/8455, www.infibeam.com/book

Death Is Not Always A Sad Event

Two days after I visited Melide in Tessin, Switzerland, I had to travel to my home, St. Thomas, US Virgin Islands. My father, who was 94,  was ill. At that age, his illness spoke of urgency, and my dad, who is the last of his siblings, had already spoken of his journey on earth coming to an end. We, his children, were impressed by his strenght, his resilience, his ability to cope and recovery from illness brought on by longevity. He just bounced back from anything old age had thrown his way. He showed us, by example, how to cope with such adversity. His death was no surprise as we had been forewarned by him.  Death came as he was surrounded by all of his children, a grandson, and church friends.  It was as though he had made an appointment with us to be there on this specific day and time so he could take his leave. The nurse confirmed our suspicions when she said that "he was travelling," and soon he took his last breath.  The final exit from this world was sad and we were there to cry on each other's shoulder and give each other strength to acknowlege that he was no longer with us.

The funeral brought family together.  We had come from Switzerland, California, New york, Florida, the island of Antigua. Family and friends, we had not seen in thirty or forty years came to bid farewell to dad. Seeing family and friends brought smiles on our faces as we hugged and embraced each other on this mournful occasion.

Reunion
(for Gilbert Elliot Romeo 12.09 -17.04.2009)

Death brought us here.
Papa's travelling home
set off the talking drum.
It's voice reaching ears
near and far.

We come together in
this place of snactity,
wear solemn faces,
lower our voices as not
to offend God and Papa
who rest temporarily in
his heavenly father's abode.

At the entrance
we carry out death rituals,
hand out gray armbands
and pin purple ribbons
on those come to say
their last goodbye.

Faces, we have for long not seen,
appear, their hand outstretched.
They plant a kiss, we hug, embrace
loved ones and friends.
A chorus of joy banishes sorrow.

We feel papa's memories in
their words that tell kind tales,
hear his voice of hope speaking to our hearts.
We sing him home, send him off
to a better place at this gathering
in his honor.

(c) Althea Romeo-Mark 30.04.2009