Out from the Indian Ocean a goose-bump-breeze blows the old sorrowful secrets of this town into the ears of the sparse travelers. Life-rags of a time long long gone, a time when world-history paid a short visit to this town, breathing in a bit of colonial life
... only to decay into a laming lethargy all of a sudden again soon after.
Today the rotting vapours of putrefaction waver through the ruined houses
of this morbid beauty of a town.
Past the stinking fish-market, through the frames of the wooden ship's hulls
constructed in the same way as centuries ago, also past the gallows-memorial.
The deep orange light of the cheaky setting sun twinkles
through the fleshless carcass of the old "German Boma".
Town houses of the Arabic, German and English aliens have gone to racks, long since the bewitchingly rich blossoming trees have conquered rooms in which once glamourous feasts were celebrated, where people loved, mourned ...
only the beautifully carved wooden doors hanging crooked in the hinges bring back memories of an old era, of a different life.
Arabic blackbirders traded their "black African gold" who "laid their hearts down" here with no hope of ever returning to their home lands.
But everybody else was here as well: German and English colonialists romantically-gone astray, adventurers, Burton, Speke, Stanley ... even Livingstone - but dead as a dodo just before his heartless corpse was shipped to his non-home England.
Even Gretchen, "Our beloved child" who saw life for only six days
... back then in February 1900 ...