Culture-Dance (by Betsy)

Uganda teaches me to dance with the feet of uncertainty.

You see,

I’ve danced the steps of the American dream for twenty-one years

and I still stumble.

The hip-swings and sidesteps take a lifetime to master

and I have a million more magazines to open,

a billion more books to read

and a trillion more tunes to learn

before I feel graceful in my American culture-dance.

The dance is like a diamond or a disco ball—

it takes time to count the facets and the brightness overwhelms my eyes.

The complexity of the lay of the land,

from theater

to courthouse

to ghetto

to greenhouse

still makes me stumble.

And here I am, in Africa,

back on square one.

And so I beg, you, big continent,

to teach me the twists and turns of your trees--

I want to rumba on your red rooftops and in your art galleries,

waltz among your watermelons

and disco in the dust of your streets.

I want to know you intimately, Africa,

to hold your children

and dig deep into your red earth.

But for now I’m a novice with two left feet and a digital camera,

wide-eyed like a child as I trip through Kampala.

And if I’ve only brushed the surface of my own home country

I feel like I’m barely skimming you, Uganda,

so all I can do is dance with you

like I used to dance with my father when I was three—

I’ll step on your big brown feet,

hold tight to your hands

and let you lead me.