Finally I was able to spot Hoopoe, a bird that was so very common once, it seemed to have vanished. Hoopoe is an exotic looking bird fawn colored plumage black wings and tail that is banded with white long curved bill and fan shaped crest that spread when alarmed. This is one bird that can be easily identified. They avoid thick forest and are very common in open field with grooves of trees. They could be found turning over leaves or rubbish searching for insects. It has undulating uncertain kind of fight as if it has forgotten where to go “geez am I supposed to go here or there?!!” though it is master of flight easily avoiding birds of prey. During incubation period the females of the specie secrete an unpleasant smell that gives the nest stench of rotting flesh which keeps the predator away.
Hoopoe finds mention in ancient civilizations (Egyptian considered it sacred and Persians associated it to virtue), in murals and quite interestingly reference is found in both Koran and Bible (the above line “How is that I not see the Hoopoe?” is taken from Koran!!).
In 2008 after a pol
l hoopoe was made the national bird of Israel Israel Israel is a main crossroads for birds migrating between Europe and Africa .
l hoopoe was made the national bird of Leopold Sedar Senghor (1906-2001): The poet who became the President
It was while I was searching for whom to write about in this blog that I stumbled upon Leopold Senghor the former President of Senegal. Senghor was an influential statesman who served as President f
or almost twenty years after the country got independence from France Czech Republic Africa . There is overwhelming optimism. These lines from Noliwe
I would not have killed her if I had loved her less.
I had to escape from doubt
from the intoxication of the milk of her mouth,
from the throbbing drum of the night of my blood
from my bowels of fervent lava,
from the uranium mines of my heart
in the depths of my Blackness
from love of Noliwe
from the love of my black skinned people.
Senghor had his higher studies in Paris and later served as an officer in French army. He was captured by Germans during Second World War and escaped execution; he spent incarceration period writing poems. He later took up teaching career at prestigious university in Paris. When Senegal got independence he took over as the President. He is credited to have put a strong foundation of a peaceful nation.
This one of his earlier poems that reflects nostalgia of an exile…
Tokowaly, uncle, do you remember the nights gone by
When my head weighted heavy on the back of your patience
Or
Holding my hand your hand led me by shadows and signs
The fields are flowers of glowworms, stars hang on the
bushes, on the trees
Silence is everywhere.
In another poem “visit” he recalls the sky of his country
It is the same sun bedewed with illusions,
The same sky unnerved by hidden presences,
The same sky feared by those who have a reckoning with the dead,
And suddenly my dead draw near to me...
He wrote once"... every true work of art, whether it is a novel, a riddle, or a caricature, is always a rhythmic image.... A work of art--poem or story, painting or sculpture, music or dance-these are not ideas but works of beauty. The role of criticism is not to say what it means but why and in what way it is beautiful."
or almost twenty years after the country got independence from I would not have killed her if I had loved her less.
I had to escape from doubt
from the intoxication of the milk of her mouth,
from the throbbing drum of the night of my blood
from my bowels of fervent lava,
from the uranium mines of my heart
in the depths of my Blackness
from love of Noliwe
from the love of my black skinned people.
Senghor had his higher studies in Paris and later served as an officer in French army. He was captured by Germans during Second World War and escaped execution; he spent incarceration period writing poems. He later took up teaching career at prestigious university in Paris. When Senegal got independence he took over as the President. He is credited to have put a strong foundation of a peaceful nation.
This one of his earlier poems that reflects nostalgia of an exile…
Tokowaly, uncle, do you remember the nights gone by
When my head weighted heavy on the back of your patience
Or
Holding my hand your hand led me by shadows and signs
The fields are flowers of glowworms, stars hang on the
bushes, on the trees
Silence is everywhere.
In another poem “visit” he recalls the sky of his country
It is the same sun bedewed with illusions,
The same sky unnerved by hidden presences,
The same sky feared by those who have a reckoning with the dead,
And suddenly my dead draw near to me...
He wrote once"... every true work of art, whether it is a novel, a riddle, or a caricature, is always a rhythmic image.... A work of art--poem or story, painting or sculpture, music or dance-these are not ideas but works of beauty. The role of criticism is not to say what it means but why and in what way it is beautiful."
