At The Nubian Village Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Goats are the first to meet us:
Bleating, grey, brown, pied,
Cropping the thorn bushes beside the river.

A one- humped dromedary
Slumped on its folded legs
Like a very occasional table
Looks down its snooty nose;
Rises, swings its arse and strides away
Long legged as a cat-walk model.

A dhow draws in and anchors.
A waterbuffalo tramples through the reeds.
Senor amigo, the urchins cry
Firing out smatterings of French and Dutch
Lovely jubbly you buy my calendars?
Aiming for the right linguistic bullseye.

We are led into the shade of a village hut
And are served with hibiscus, mint tea,
Small, sweet cakes.

A plump, veiled, chewing girl
Enters with henna, offers to paint our legs
Outside, a kingfisher flashes its brilliant wings
A free display of flight and native dance.