Flowers & Locusts Book Excerpts
Excerpt One
It was my favorite time of day, the light so much clearer than during the heat of midday and the outline of the Entoto mountains more distinct. A chill would creep in as the evening breeze picked up taking away the warmth of the day. An orange haze far off in the distance would flicker where the hills met the horizon. At times the sun glowed ruby red casting a deep radiance over the landscape and the clouds were pink and orange puffs of color. And while Taffy and Mac drank from the river, Tim and I would watch the sun sink lower and lower. We didn't talk much at those times, perhaps each needing to be alone with our thoughts. And then we'd head home in the twilight, meeting up with Worku on the way back, catching the scent of the fires that burned in front of the tukuls but making sure that we were through the gates and back in the compound before dark.
Excerpt Two
Dad was a handsome man, about six foot two with dark brown hair, a chiseled face, and piercing dark eyes with a steely gaze that embodied authority. His rules were clear and when his voice lowered and he turned his head the slightest bit to the side, I think each of us kids feared him. When he came into a room his presence filled the space with a keen charisma. Women liked him and he could be flirtatious and charming. And men wanted to be his poker buddy and hunting companion. He played the piano in a jazz band and some of my favorite days were the Sundays when we went to hear him play. There were many nights, when I was tossing and turning in bed, that the faint sounds of a piece he was practicing would gradually lull me to sleep. My mother was a beauty, possessing one of those faces that was simply lovely from every angle. Her light brown hair was cut short and her eyes deep pools of blue liquid. She wore beautiful silk or cotton suits in bright colors like lemon yellow and ruby red. But I have never seen a photograph of her that truly captured what she looked like, at least not what she looked like to me. It was almost like she was suddenly shy in front of the camera as though she might reveal too much. She was soft spoken, gentle and kind but hard for me to read at moments. I had never seen her outright angry, but I’d watch her withdraw into herself and I spent many hours studying her and wondering what she was thinking about. But when I hugged her before she went out the door for the evening I would be wrapped in her scent, a mixture of Ivory soap and Joy perfume. I had a small stash of spices, grasses, crushed flower petals and leaves, and her scent was one that I would try to recreate.
Excerpt Three
I was beginning to feel a greater and greater sense of unease, as though the flowers and trees and dirt were hinting at something happening in Ethiopia that had not yet fully appeared, and whose ultimate form was as yet unknown. Unsettling spirits born of this land’s history seemed constantly to drift in and hover like dark clouds, and I was too impossibly young to understand why I felt personally threatened by what was happening in Ethiopia. I knew from past experience that clouds gather until a storm breaks, but I never knew when it would come, or how deadly it would be. That night at the movie theater had seemed like just another evening — until suddenly it wasn’t. And Dad’s mundane hunting trip had instantly changed into a waking nightmare. And then there was that day when three American Marines showed up at our compound, bringing yet more ominous shadows. The day before the Marines came, I was awakened by sunlight streaming in through the slats in the metal shutter that was pulled down over my window every night. Squinting as my eyes began to adjust to the bright light I quickly got out of bed, pulled on my socks and, still wearing the pair of sweats and a t-shirt that I liked to sleep in, crept down the hall carrying my rubber boots in my hand. Once outside, I pulled them on and then quickly ran down the side yard splashing through the puddles that had left the ground still wet and soggy after a torrential rainfall during the night. I arrived at the stables just as Worku was coming around from the back carrying a huge bale of hay over his head, his biceps visible through the thin shirt he wore. Worku seemed very proud of his Amhara heritage and he loved explaining Amharic phrases to me ... I told him I had a friend at school named Asfa Wossen and he told me that Asfa Wossen meant “to expand the border,” and that the popular name for a girl Asselefech meant “she made them line up.” Now I watched Worku divide up the hay and throw a section of it into each stall. Half an hour later, the six horses were fed and their stalls mucked out and, suddenly realizing that the rest of the household would be getting ready for breakfast, I tore back up to the house and into the kitchen.
