its our river

we dared to walk out alone, before we got blistered. it was pretty dead out there, the skin was turning a bit black. yet one soul appeared and tailed down the road, in the dirt. intention unclear, and threatening... he eventually flaked off. plastic piles crusted anciently, a small dirty girl led a horse up and down, screaming hello at us as we went past. she was happy to see us. it was our river but they took it away. we were blatant tourists beaming in bright colours, in a place that was born out of a desert. a place where ladies were poured in gowns, fabrics that never seemed to swelter them. a place where men were the almighty, but they behave like the pigs they cant eat. we made it to a safe place, safe enough for chips and coke. the great river was framed in glass, lined by top hotels and business class, savoured for the elite. its fish supplies have dwindled from hundreds to tens, its almost dry. but still boys swim there on really hot days, people bath in deeper africa and it deems one part of the continent luscious, fertile, life giving. it was their civilisation on that earth, with one invasion too many and intelligent souls shipped away. only the proles remained, and so they spawned for generations. we can see the results today, and a terrible attitude. smog so chemical and thick, but still smells of charred spiced animal flesh prevail. it is part of me, and it was lost in the genes. now i know where to find it.