Necromantic Monologues and a Police Van.

Ilha do Sal (The island of Sal), Cape Verde.

Sometime in 2017.



Hey Hey Heeyyyy

How’re you doing. Good?

Yeah? Great. Great great great. That’s absolutely great to hear.

What did you do?

Today. Today, what did you do today. Tell me.

Tell me. Tell me tell me tell me. I want to know.

I’m smiling. You can see I’m smiling, can’t you.

Hmnn. Haha.

Wait- your nails. You painted your nails. Afresh. You painted them a new colour.

Hmm, they were some other colour the last time I remember. Some strange one. One with some name that I had never heard before. One that I didn’t even know was an actual colour.

Come on- come on help me out here.


Aha yes! That’s it! That’s it- Nude. That’s it.

Wait, how is nude even a colour? How does that work? Like, how does that even work?

Or you know what? Forget it. I don’t care. I like it. I like you, and so that automatically means I like it. By extension. By association. By whatever other synonym happens to exist in English. Whichever one. Take your pick.




Hey. Do you know I’ve started painting my nails? No? Not at all? Well I have.

I started out with black. I like it. I really really like it.

Here. Take a look.

I don’t know if I bought a standard product however, I don’t know. I feel like my fingernails look like I just poured wall paint on them.

Haha. Yeah. Like actual wall paint.

I mean, you can see it right?

Doesn’t it look like there’s wall paint on my fingernails.



These Nigerian people? They do not get it. They do not get it at all.

Haha. You should see the way they look at me. You should see the way the women look at me- with their own unpainted fingers.

I mean, of course not all of them- some of them paint their nails. Some. But really you should see the ones who don’t. And how they look at me. With my sheeny shiny nails.

Haha. You’d get an immense laugh out of it, I’m sure.




Ola.  [Hello]

Ola, Bo’tarde. [Hello, Good afternoon]

I raise my head. It’s a police van.

The letters “P O L I C I A” are spelled across the chassis in bold white letters.

The men inside are muttering something in Portuguese Creole.

I’m staring at them- I’m still entirely in my head. Not yet conscious enough of my physical surroundings to make sense of what is happening.


Fala Creolo?          [Do you speak Creole?]

Fala Creolo?          [Do you speak Creole?]


Muaso menche. Poc.          [Somewhat. A little]

I am not sure if I am articulating the first expression correctly. I make an augmenting gesticulation with my hands.

Muaso menche.          [Somewhat]


You have to come with us to the station. You’re tresspassing. You have to come with us to the station.


I take a look around me. I am outside the city. I’m not particularly sure of how it was that I got here.

I remember I was going for a walk. No precise idea of where.

I’m not particularly sure… What?

How? ……….


You have to come with us to the station. You tresspassing. You have to come with us to the station.


Into the Police Van.

Into the Police Van Mayowa, into the Police Van.

Into the van you go.


No handcuffs this time Mayowa.

No handcuffs this time.

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