rubenbrulat:Each steps on humid grounds flowed with blood and insides of animals, this is the livest
rubenbrulat:Each steps on humid grounds flowed with blood and insides of animals, this is the livestock market. Hargeisa, the capital meaning where the skin goes. Since ancient times the locals bring their animals here to be slaughtered.Smells are intense, eyes, fixed in time looks in the empty of dead cows, grasping, others of locals follow you, ’Nabat, Setaï?’ We talk, some simple english, the war in Yemen, the war down south in Mogadishu, Islam, its values, the Paris attacks..A turn, through the large drapes glimpses at the nearby minaret, its shouts echoing five times a day. Women walking with their veil, contrast from the nearby Ethiopia, the bazar is large, cereals waiting to be crushed by the bumps your hear in the distances, women, in rhythms under the heat of the day. Tomatoes, large and juicy watermelon, dates facing the freshly sorted lamb meat, that start drying in the air, the smell, strong core.A tree here seem undisturbed not by the shouts of the muezzin, neither the bumps that the bazar movers are giving him rushing slightly too fast since his young years. Undisturbed also by the civil war that happen twenty years ago, here and there a few buildings left cribbled with bullet on all sides, too similar to what Syria, Iraq, Libya or Yemen are these days, holes of death, left standing in a repeating time.The smell of Fish cooked Yemeni style, in a busy restaurant waiters running the alley yelling, delicious. A corner and there is something familiar, Lewoleba, Indonesia, it was a small sellers by her home she had a few ‘Markissa’ we only learned the name later. The next day hiking the great volcano of the island through the jungle, the sugary taste still fixed in my mouse. Here it was only the smell, similar to guava, which it was, ‘Himissa kilo?’. They were sour, but surely brought great feels.Over the rumors, pieces of scrap, fabric, and various cover creating the roof of the market, there is lightnings, a large massive cloud hovering above the nearby hills, the last rays of sun play with its tip, a few seconds and they leave, a thunderstorm in the evening, and its fresh brise that comes over me, souls that walk relentlessly, guided by the smells, the sounds, they get close always touching each other clothes tissues are frictioning, bodies tangled for a moment, before heading their own way, for colliding again, waves of an intense flow of energy only coming to life a few hours at the end of the day, all senses overwhelmed.I look up and there is thunder. -- source link