Adonis Diaries

Posts Tagged ‘Zanzibar

The skipper-type is recalling this beauty

Not Linda, though very appropriate

It has been terribly cold these past two weeks,

Lebanon standard of cold, not that terrible with minimal amenities.

We do enjoy a water central heating system…

And I could afford the fuel, mazout.


It is 2 am and watching a movie on TV,

I am not sleepy, but cold is creeping in my bones.

I got inside my “warmer” bed, and could not sleep.

Memories flooding in, dispersing haphazardly, converging, diverging,

Refocusing on a beautiful face.


A beautiful face I met 37 years ago.

It was winter of 1976.

A Friday, and about 8:30 pm.

Alone, as usual, I am to watch a foreign movie,

Shown by the University Film Club at the Microbiology department.


She showed up with her girlfriend. She is blonde, blue/green eyed, not tall, not skinny.

For my candid eyes, just the perfect beauty.

I cowered.

I should have made haste, join her, and say: “Fair lady, have a good look at my face.

I need you to remember my face.

I need you to recollect that this face once told you

“You are the most beautiful girl around…”


The microbiology department, a stupid two flat floors, a couple of microscopes, and an auditorium.

The second “complex” by the Main Library, looking south,

The South long lawn, ideal for mass student demonstrations.

I used to demonstrate around it twice a week,  mostly joining a hundred of Iranian students,

Scanding: “Down with the Shah of Iran”, “Down with US imperialism“, Down with the Savak”

The Shah secret service

Three years later, the Shah fled to exile.

Only Sadat of Egypt dared give him shelter, and where he died of cancer.


No, I didn’t chicken out: I terribly lacked conversational skills, and still do.

No, I didn’t chicken out: I had never carried out a conversation with a beautiful girl,

I didn’t understand girls, or human interconnection…

And time never came to the rescue in any important skills: It aches,

And the aches are exacerbated with time.


A couple of months later, I met her in my apartment.

An old student complex that I shared with a friend studying pharmacy.

I was returning at midnight from the library. Biking in the cold.

It was a cold night, and I must have biked or walked, no other alternatives.

And I had to piss badly and profusely.

I stepped out and this beauty had vanished like a mirage.


“Where is she?” I asked my roommate Fouad.

“You know, the one I once told you was the most beautiful girl around that I met?”

Fouad looked me up in total surprise. “You mean Jennifer?”…

That’s another story: She was taking a pharmacy class with him…

And spending the evening memorizing medical pharmacology terms.

My roommate told me that he had an idea to sleep with her

But will drop this desire for the sake of my fantasie.

Kind of a tacit loyalty. A rare sort of loyalty.

And I had to believe him any which way.


Twelve years later, I met her at Zanzibar, a night club in the town of Norman.

She was sitting alone, at the bar, waiting for the bar to close

and leave with her new beau bartender, serving drinks.


She didn’t change a bit.

Twelve years later, and another round of “higher education” stint,

A stint that grew me old:

My PhD advisor told me: “At your age, I was married with 3 children, 2 boys and a girl”

And he didn’t look that old.


Some people mature fast and very soon.

Maturity? I am waiting for this phase to take a peek at me.

I am  the skipper-type:

From an everlasting naive kid to rotten wise.


I sat by her at the bar and whispered her name: I could still recall her name.

A name that my roommate had told me, long, long time ago.

I introduced myself and simply reminded her of the name of Fouad, my former roommate.

She “recognized” me instantly.


Fouad must have told her about the devastating impression she made on me…

Count on a girl to retrieve a guy’s face, formed in a split-second,

Many years later, a face attached to “You are the most beautiful girl around…”


We had no conversation: She didn’t contribute a word.

We never had an opportunity to talk before.

And I had never heard her voice then, or now.

She didn’t even smiled, not a flicker of a smile.


She was selling pharmaceutical products…

I could have said: “Has one of the two bartenders invited you tonight?

Are you intending to invite a particular bartender…?”

Any small talk, the most outrageous talk would have been swell…

This cavernous silence.  She didn’t change a bit


I bet, if I meet her again, another 37 years later, this girl will still be the same girl,

Unchanged, not a bit:

The eyes register the first impression,

And it was good.

My eyes: setting on the most beautiful girl around.

My eyes, refusing to sleep a wink tonight.

“The passionate story of my life”: Who is Olaudah Equiano (1745-97). (Feb. 11, 2010)

Olaudah Equiano (1745-97) was a slave; he describes how he was shipped to be sold.  Equiano published his book in 1789 at the age of 44 while a free man and settled in London.  He was kidnapped in Nigeria and sold to the British American colonies; he travelled with his “master” across the American continent, worked as sailor before set free. Equiano became very influential in the abolitionism movement.

“The first sight when I reached the shore was the sea that I was seeing for the first time. A slave ship was shoring up.  A few sailors grabbed me and threw me in the air to check my good health. I quickly felt that I am in the hands of evil spirits.  I had the strong impression that I am to be eaten alive. The sailors had long hair, red faces, and talked in strange languages. Black slaves were in chains and the demeanor expressed anxiety, suffering, and total discouragement.

I lost consciousness and then the black people who brought me in to be sold for salary offered me an alcoholic drink that plunged me in great torpor. I was led beneath the ship deck and the stench made me sick: I could no longer eat or drink and refused what I was offered.  Consequently, sailors tied my legs and they whipped me crazy.  Since I never drank water I could not drink any water extended to me.  My life of slavery in the village was no where as cruel as my current situation.  A few slaves tried to jump overboard and they were punished harshly.”

Negro trades were undertaken in most of Africa. In central Africa, slave trades were done within the African tribes.  In western Africa slaves were first shipped to south USA (the ports of Charleston and New Orleans), to Central America (Havana), Venezuela, and Brazil (Bahia and Rio de Janeiro) and then shipped again to Europe to the ports of Lisbon, Cordoba, Liverpool, La Rochelle, Nantes, Le Havre, and Amsterdam. The main ports of shipments in western Africa were done in Goree (Senegal), Ouidah (Ivory Coast), Sao Tome, Benguela (current Luanda).

Slave trades from eastern Africa were done by Moslem tribes in the ports of Zanzibar, Mogadishu, Cairo, Tripoli (Libya), Alger, and Marrakech on their way to Jedda (Saudi Arabia), Muscat (Oman), and then toward the Middle East and Turkey.

Twenty Kitties around Josephine (Written in November 2002)

I met her at the Zanzibar, a dancing night club.

A club in a hole of a University town.

I’m told the town has expanded so much it is almost a city.

Fate of any town, close to a major city.

She was with a couple of her girlfriends,

Like them, in their late thirties’ or mid-forty’s.

Josephine was pretty, skinny with reddish long hair.

She was looking surreptitiously at me and I invited her for a dance.

We danced a lot, crazily,

And the slow dances were slow, tight and erotic.

We had a date the next day.

She came a little late as it should be.

Josephine parked her old, heavy, noisy and yellow American car

In front of my apartment complex.

It was my friends’ apartment from Tunisia and Morocco.

They were on an extended trip.

She just had had her hair cut short a la garcon, a major let down.

She was wearing a short white, very short and thongs.

Her legs were very skinny

And her skin was English white and pink around the knees.

I felt a surge of shame:

A lady her age should have a moderate sense of modesty.

People might rightly assume a money transaction in that visit, which was not.

Josephine inspected the premise quickly and indicated a room of her liking.

I objected lamely that my friend might object and she did not insist.

We went to the living room and she took off her scant cloths.

We threw pillows on the gray carpet for bed.

Abruptly, Josephine proposed the back intercourse, position and hole.

I recovered my senses while reasoning that there is always a first after all.

She leaned over a sofa

And I enjoyed the view of her smooth, round and pinkish behind.

That part of hers looked in her twenties in that posture.

In the meanwhile, I asked her if she is enjoying it.

“Not really, it is as I need to shit.” She said.

A serious inquiry was appropriate since she proposed this position.

I refrained at the last second feeling quite sure

That Josephine had idiosyncrasies about Arabs’ preferences.

We moved to our makeshift bed and resumed a long late foreplay.

We were tender, affectionate and delicate.

Josephine proposed a joint and I admitted that a unique draw is enough for me.

I recall the first time I smoked a joint.

I was in a convertible Alfa Romeo with two guys.

We were heading toward the lake at a summer night.

My friends were having a great time, speeding and listening

To “Leila”, a guitar song played by Eric Clapton.

They laughed a lot

And I had a hell of problems keeping the lids of my red eyes open.

I twice experienced smoking a joint in groups, never alone,

To train myself for a better fit among smokers.

Once, my friends had to leave without me to see a movie and dance.

When they returned 4 hours later,

I was still lying on the sofa, my eyes closed shut, listening to music,

Trying to differentiate the timbers among the different musical instruments.

The third instance was in a park, close by my apartment,

Enjoying an afternoon open concert in a beautiful summer day.

I woke up the park empty and dark already.

I walked my bike home.

Josephine finished off the joint in a delicious rapture.

I discovered the positive side effects of taking one draw:

I felt myself a regenerated stud to the satisfying appreciation of Josephine.

We had another go at love and I bathed in her glowing face and young smile.

I understood then the saying: “Love makes young”.

She had finished a second joint and I inhaled one puff.

I inserted a finger, then a second, then a third.

She was moaning softly and continuously.

When my whole tiny hand was in her,

Her moaning rose to an additional octave for a long time

And I got scared.

I asked her whether she was all right.

She opened her eyes as from a long dream.

I felt stupid and regretted cutting short whatever she was experiencing.

I also regretted the deficiencies of males in that pleasurable sport.

Josephine told me that she is keeping two dozens of cats in her home.

She had a name for every cat.  She is well versed

On the psychological character and behavior of every single cat of hers.

I felt curious and asked her when am I going to visit her.

She categorically denied me any visit and I felt totally relieved.

I intended not to tell my friends about this visit

But the Moroccan guy found out from a girl friend of his.

He was pissed off and I exacerbated the situation

By gloating that we tried every corner of the apartment, including his bed.

My Moroccan friend avoided me then for months.

He did not feel handicapped about pissing in the lavatory.

I didn’t mind:  I believe they had started treating waste water.

Josephine introduced me to her married son at Zanzibar.

It was a planned surprise from her.

Her son behaved properly and shook my hand.

Josephine invited me to her girlfriends’ house too.

She was fluttering around the place chatting and singing.

She was displaying her beau.

She sat on my laps, hugged me and kissed me all the while.

I felt intimidated and absolutely awkward.

I sat stiff and stoic.

I could not join the group in their intimate relationships.

I felt a certified self-centered ignoramus

Amid lively butterflies, though older and oversized.

I am sorry that I failed befriending these ladies, real ones for a change.

Josephine moved with a black man,

A handsome, friendly addict and a drug pusher.

He lived at her home with the kitties around.

Marvin ended up in prison 

And Josephine had to bail him out.

Josephine was alcoholic but she was fighting courageously

For her rights to have the most pleasures in this lifetime.

She won the battle.

Josephine learned not to discriminate against origins, races or colors.




January 2023

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