SMALL TOWN: NSIMBI

Steaming cup of tea. I feel like a seed about to be blanketed in the warmth of a promise to grow. I catch the reflection of a tree on the sidewalk, it sways as if to say goodbye to the distant cousins in my tea leaves. A small tremor shakes me out of my thoughts, I catch the ripples across the black liquid and look up.

Smoke rises up out of the valley beyond the town Park Forest. A group of men came to town a week ago, black attire and vehicles going around announcing, in the way they sparkled in the sun they wanted more, the new mining project. They looked like mourners, coming to tell the dwellers of a small home the news of a dead wealthy family member. The blasts from the valley have not stopped, even in the rain. Something about deadlines and striking the iron when it’s hot.

I bring my eyes back to the tea house. I wonder whether its walls will stand the tremors as the machines go deeper into the heart of the hill. I doubt they have ever crossed paths with an earthquake, so delicate and refined _ liquid aromas, mild laughter and whispered chatter. I wonder whether I will stay when the machines crawl out under my bed. The thought makes me clutch the cup in my hand. The heat seeps into my muscles, I realize I am tense, and take my mind off the black cloud from the mines that is slowly slithering over Nsimbi..and fast clouding me.