The Powerless Mornings in Tanzania (Short)

Fuchsia flowers and canary fluff bloom in the trees and liter the car and garden.


Children shout, and birds whistle.

Clouds float along a robin egg sea.


Water drips from the self-ringing mop I bought the housekeeper.

At first amused, she used it once and shook her head. Water had flooded the floor.

“Sawa,” (ok). I tossed my hands in the air with a grin. “Tena” (again). My spoken Swahili barely enough to get the message across.


Straw brooms scratch the dirt.


She left the room and returned with the old mop. With a stern brow, she pointed to the old mop, a simple wood handle with ragged white string. “Sawa.” I laughed. Point taken. Get this kind.

Mop technology failed us today.

The power snapped off. The internet dependent on its force gave up as well.

We exchanged glances.

Electricity had failed us too.


The powerless morning thrust us into the land of batteries and imagination.

Imagination and time, which led to exploration.

Exploration, which led to discovery.

Discovery of a Buddha.

A Buddha in the garage.