I’ve moved over twelve times since leaving Dar es Salaam; from one apartment to another; from one continent to another. With every move, there are possessions to discard, keepsakes that get broken.
I don’t remember where I bought this carving. Probably from a Makonde carver on the hill in Dar, but like many of my treasures, this dancing piece of art work was lost in transition. I forgot about the moving figures until my daughters resurrected them.
Now the ebony carving hangs over the entrance to what I hope is my last home. No more moves please.