The East PacificBoard

sh; shhh she she. At first I mistake the sound for rustling leaves, but it quickly picks up tempo. I hear the drums echoing tonight, heralding in a new moon. I make my way towards the source but stop short of seeing them. Without blinking, I take a mental snapshot of my surroundings. Through our link, I know she only hears whispers of some quiet conversation. I consider sending the data to her now, but I want to have something to say when to see her again, so I refrain. Asherah, who glides on moonlit wings that reflect the stars... Asherah who pretends to see all and know all... Asherah, who's coming at half-past midnight is to be anticipated as much as feared.

Long ago, when I was still en route, I stopped to talk with an old man along the way. I don't know what I was hoping to find, maybe some guidance on learning alien languages or advice on helping primitive sentients. But he stopped me in my tracks when he turned to me as if to say
"Hurry Baal, it's waiting there for you to help us colonize it."

Wild cries pierce the night. I sense they're growing restless for rain and longing for some solace in company. I know that I must do what's right.
Certainty washes over me, and for a moment I feel sure. I shake it off. Intervention is a poison deep inside, and I'm frightened of this thing that I've become. I rehearse my argument to Asherah. "It's going take a lot to drag me away from here. There's nothing that a hundred men or more could do."

These thoughts swim and subside. She's come and brought rain; they're safe. As for me, well, I realize I'm stuck on the savanna grass gazing at the stars, and the sweet scent of smoke has begun to fill my being.

As with before, I've taken a little quite a bit of creative freedom with the lyrics to adapt it to my intended story. The primary difference is that, unlike with Stromae, I have largely inverted the perspective of the first person narration. Toto was reflecting on nostalgia for a continent they only knew from textbooks written by white men; I have taken the nostalgia forwards to a future in which the narrator knows Africa personally. Of course, this perspective is still that of an outsider whose views contain another kind of mythos. I chose to portray it this way because removing the iconic chorus leaves a core of ambiguity: in this place, who's saving who?