Lit Buzz

Binyananga Wainana

By Anastasia ⋅ October 31, 2006 ⋅  Email this post ⋅  Print this post ⋅ Post a comment

“Isn’t this great? What a tub? Wonder when they built it—must be before the war.”
“Is it safe, do you think?”
Matano smiles to himself. He looks out at the ferry, and allows himself to see it through their eyes.
Stomach plummets: fear, thrill. Trippy. So real. Smell of old oil, sweat and spices. So exotic.
Color: women in their robes, eyes covered, rimmed with Kohl; other women dark and dressed in skirts and blouses looking drab; other women sort of in-between cultures, a chiffon blouse, and a wraparound sarong with bright yellow, green, and blue designs. Many people are barefoot. An old Arab man, with an emaciated face and a hooked nose, in a white robe, sitting on a platform above, one deformed toenail sweeping up like an Ali Baba shoe. A foot like varnished old wood, full of cracks. He is stripping some stems and chewing the flesh inside. There is a bulge on one cheek, and he spits and spits and spits all the way to the mainland. Brownish spit lands on some rusty metal, pools and trickles, slips off the side onto some rope that lies coiled on the floor.
The tourists’ eyes are transfixed: somewhere between horror and excitement. How real! Must send a piece to Granta.
Same scene through Matano’s eyes:

Via Virginia Quarterly, where this noteworthy story, “Ships in High Transit,”* by Binyananga Wainana is available in its entirety.

*If anyone can tell me how or why “Ships in High Transit” is abbreviated as S.H.I.T, I’ll love you forever.