Barbora (by Jill Smith)

Ok, Jill agreed with that therefore I have to do it. This poem is so good that it should be published, at least here. :)

Barbora
(by: Jill Smith)

When I arrived in Stellenbosch,
I was all alone.
I had no friends and no airtime;
Nothing to call my own.

Concordia was hot and empty;
How many thoughts did rove!
'How can I spend six months here
If I can't even work the stove?'

I spent two days there by myself,
And let my doubts unfurl:
My lonely future, my abandoned past...
And then I met a girl.

She had hair of gold and eyes of blue -
A political science whiz.
And she was from the Czech Republic,
Wherever the hell that is.

Dark as my heart was, I thought
I didn't stand a chance
To be the BFF of a girl
Who wears such colorful pants.

But somewhere in the depths of souls,
A violent hunger thrives:
I knew that if I gave her food,
Our friendship might survive.

And so the months trundled past;
In A320 there bloomed
The flowers of beautiful friendship,
And a fungal colony in Joy's room!

From Cape Point to Boulders Beach,
To Hermanus' freezing seas;
Crammed into too-small cars,
Listening to love ballads with Waleed.

From baboons to soccer-playing dogs,
From big trees to caves to bays;
To witnessing the butchering
Of one of Shakespeare's greatest plays,

From Screaming Guy to Gregory;
From Mexico to Emmanuel;
And martyr-ly Marissa,
Who tells kids to go to Hell,

From small and slack-jawed Emily,
And Lydia; to Tyrone;
And Geraldine, who crossed the street,
And didn't have a phone.

From chocolate to late-night Lost;
Very few people can boast
That they are still alive and well
After consuming eight pieces of toast.

These are the memories I will cherish -
Sunday trips to Spar;
Watching Marvin refuse to accept
That you are not beskikbaar.

Afrikaans and freezing rooms -
There are many things I'll miss
But nothing I'll miss quite as much
As the bathrooms at the International Office.

I'll miss the mists of Victoria Falls
And the stars of the Namib skies,
And the sound of Wessel's dulcet voice
Saying, 'Okay guys...'

Alas, it's time to go home now;
All things have their ends.
I guess there's nothing left to say,
Except... (punch) 'No friends.'

So this is a poem written by Jill for me. I told her to do so and it took her months but I think it was worth it. :) And if I never again post anything about Africa here, it wouldn't matter because Jill just said it all. :) Thank you, Jill!