In the mid-seventies, on board a flight
From Tanga to Dar es Salaam, the seat
Next to me was taken by a woman
With baby. She was dressed unsuitably
In tweed, most probably for the first time.
She tugged repeatedly at her thick skirt,
Though it quite fully covered her knees.
I wondered whether I should promise
I would not look, then thought better of it.
The plane took off. The woman, on my side,
Pulled out her breast and then fed her baby.
Shamefaced, I reflected what little worth
Our wazungu codes of decorum had
In face of such natural life giving.
Wazungu= in Kiswahili, at first European colonists,
later those of European origin from all continents
Be it on the earth or high in the sky When a hungry baby is to be fed Ours is not to question how or why But simply allow by nature to be led Good poem sir and welcome to my page
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This really is one of my favourites now martin... so thoughtful yet written with apparent comfort of flow. your contemplative nature oozes from this work, how the knee can seem more an issue than the naturalness of the breast at feeding time... im proud to say i was a believer that i could provide the best for my children.... tyvm karen