Friday, February 27, 2015

Maasai, Marley or What?

Steve, Marc and I were standing near my office door discussing Twin Rocks Cafe when an interesting character walked through the Kokopelli doors and into the trading post. Since I am fond of meeting new people, I moved away from the casual conference, intending to intercept our visitor. The guest was quite tall, 6'3" at least, and was bundled in winter garb, which consisted of slate colored jeans tucked into ebony snow boots and a deep blue woven sweater overlaid by a coal colored goose down vest. His hair was a mass of dark snakelike dreadlocks, which extended to his broad shoulders and poked out in every direction. A bundle of braids at the back of his neck were encased in a charcoal colored woven pouch that made his head appear elongated. The mystery man's eyes were completely obscured by clouded wrap-around sunglasses. He was a long and well built individual, with a strong face and giant hands. He looked like a snow bound out of place Maasai warrior with a Bob Marley doo.
Navajo Eternity Face Basket - Elsie Holiday (#389)

Sliding behind the counter, I moved in the direction of our new guest. When I passed Priscilla she gave me a warning glance, she and Steve think I all too often speak inappropriately, driving people away with my astute commentary. I believe they are jealous and rather obtuse. The melanoid man saw me coming and turned away as if he did not want to be addressed, but I was having none of that. I wanted to meet him and get to know his story. Coming up from behind, I asked, "Are you doing some traveling today? Having a good trip?" He nodded in the affirmative and said, "I am, thank you. I am on my way to Texas and . . .” His answer began with a high note, but quickly trailed-off into a low mumble. I squinted; focusing on his words, but in the end could not decipher what he had said. I detected a trace of accent, but nothing that might make him difficult to understand.

Looking to Priscilla for interpretation, I received no help. She just shook her head in the negative and shrugged nonchalantly. I glanced at Marc and Steve, but they were locked in conversation about dishpans, dishwashers or something like that. Turning back to the misplaced Maasai, I tried again, "Have you driven far?" "I have", he said, "I have driven for seven . . .” Again his answer tapered-off into that low rumble. I was now suspecting the guy was doing it on purpose, just to throw me off track. Not to be put off, I asked, "How far are you going today?" He turned to me and smiled with his brilliant white teeth. As he headed for the door, he said, "To Albuquerque, and I bett . . .” With a flip of his big right hand, he waved goodbye and passed through the heavy wooden doors, dreadlocks flowing.

Staring after the man, I wondered just what his story really was, and why he spoke the way he did. "Humph!" I said to myself after a short spell. Once again looking to Priscilla for guidance, I started to question her about what had just occurred. Priscilla put-up her hand to stop me and said, "I don't know, with your Bluffoon accents, I can barely understand you and Steve most of the time. How the heck am I supposed to . . . " "Cute", I said, "real cute." Just then Marc headed for the door, on his way back to the cafe. As he too went through the door he said; "All right, I am off to see . . ." At the same time Steve turned and headed for his office, saying, "Me too, I have to wor . . . " "Smooth", I called out to them, "I work with a group of real smart a . . !"

With warm rega Barry Simp and the team;
Steve, Priscilla and Danny.

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