In the mid-seventies, on board a flight
From Tanga to Dar es Salaam, the seat
Next to me was taken by a woman
With baby. She was dressed unsuitably
In tweed, most probably for the first time.
She tugged repeatedly at her thick skirt,
Though it quite fully covered her knees.
I wondered whether I should promise
I would not look, then thought better of it.
The plane took off. The woman, on my side,
Pulled out her breast and then fed her baby.
Shamefaced, I reflected what little worth
Our wazungu codes of decorum had
In face of such natural life giving.
Wazungu= in Kiswahili, at first European colonists,
later those of European origin from all continents
Martin McLean
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/true-vitality/
