When the sun goes down: I want to be close to the river. I want to feel its waters rushing fast past the papyrus. That warm countryside air is what my skin wants to feel. The air in which I was born and brought up. I want to live, once more, the scenic sunsets back in the village. I feel nostalgic about those evenings, in which we would sit and roast maize. I miss the smell of the fresh maize cob from the "shamba". The very smell that decoated the fireplace every evening at home. I want to watch the orango Western horizon burn to brick-red as the sun majestically goes down. Just before the roasting, giggling and night time stories start. I want to be there, when the sun goes down. "shamba" is a Swahili word for farm.