At The Nubian Village

Goats are the first to meet us: Bleating, grey, brown, pied, Cropping the thorn bushes beside the river. A one- humped dromedary Slumped on its folded legs Like a very occasional table Looks down its snooty nose; Rises, swings its arse and strides away Long legged as a cat-walk model. A dhow draws in and anchors. A waterbuffalo tramples through the reeds. Senor amigo, the urchins cry Firing out smatterings of French and Dutch Lovely jubbly you buy my calendars? Aiming for the right linguistic bullseye. We are led into the shade of a village hut And are served with hibiscus, mint tea, Small, sweet cakes. A plump, veiled, chewing girl Enters with henna, offers to paint our legs Outside, a kingfisher flashes its brilliant wings A free display of flight and native dance.