I will read more than the headlines when I retire

When I retire, 

I will read more than the headlines,

skipping across them like a rock on water

a single droplet reaching my mind that is

cluttered with projects, a granddaughter,

wondering what for dinner, the world has

to wait until I retire

and can read about it

and find out all that I 

have missed. 

Fuss Face

my darling Mira, who looks out at the world

with that discerning look,

I would call her Fuss Face, her mother 

affectionately calls her Monster. 

From the looks of it, she is preparing to

return to the warmth of the womb

unhappy that she won't fit anymore,

nor will her mother agree to that! 

Occasionally she smiles, it crosses her face

so fleetingly one might miss it.

If you were here

 

 If you were here,

we'd meet at Le French Cafe for croissants and coffee

bundled in down jackets

masks around our necks

it's a strange time

If you were here and COVID was not,

I'd sneak over to your house for a margarita,

we'd laugh like idiots, me especially, and 

then I'd todder back home, happy and sated.

.we will have to wait for better days.

If you were here, we would discuss family matters,

you would be kind about mine, and I, about yours. 

Families, in all stripes, are complicated and involve much

compromise.

If you were here and COVID was not,

I would look over your shoulder while you were cooking

because I'm doing that now

and it's fun

but especially, if you were here,

I could look directly into your eyes, and see the 

rapidly changing expressions dance across your face.

If you were here,

I would not have to miss you.

This is Stephen

Three half empty bottles of hand soap.

I laughed in recognition of my love, the one

who saves bags and boxes of rags to clean his bike,

enough to carelessly throw away when they are dirty

but they pile up in the yard

"they may be useful one day"

I collected seven "technically empty" tubes

of sunscreen, emptying the last few drops into

a glass jar - we are conservateurs, after all.

I'm not sure how many bike pumps wander 

at night throughout the house, or dog bowls,

there are so many shirts that don't fit,

and never will.

He is a salve to the American buy-it/throw-it culture

but I wish he would empty one before opening

another.

waiting for Biden

they say he's too old, yet another white male

I can tell he's had a face lift,  it was well done, quand meme.

I can't wait until he's President

hoping he'll push the other White Guy in a ditch 

on the way in.

No, he is such a gentleman.

the Police will do their job.  

I am waiting/ we are waiting for Biden to take the helm,

when the world can look upon us with envy, 

instead of horror and pity.

I'm waiting, let this race be called today!!!

P.S. He just won!  

Missing you

maybe 

it's COVID, you stopped seeing each other

Zoom fatigue, a general malaise,

our world is small, we

lost touch

maybe she married someone in 

the wrong Party and it's too

painful during an election season

to talk, you have lost trust

maybe 

you love each other

but speak different languages, separated

by time and space, too painful,

one friend walks away.

he is the most missed,

lost friend 

of all. 

Happy to be home

Normally disinterested in being home, 

with two boring parents (no children,

no other dogs), today it seems ok

being home to hunt for sunflower seeds 

scattered across the floor after her walk

each morning, bowls slick with yogurt

to clean up for the dishwasher, pots 

and pans, crumbs on plates, large ladles

still dripping with soup, 

home is ok even if there are no children

and no other dogs.

there are treats and dishes and walks

and rides in the bike trailer.

even hugs from dad and mom are ok 

after all.  

it's good to be home.  

and then there were three

Two  years ago

she was but a twinkle in your eyes

a breeze in your breath, a swirl in the 

sunny blue skies.

Two years ago, you would not even have thought of

such happiness that your home did not fall into the garage,

or that Dr. Karen would become Dr. Professor 

McKinnon, ahem.  

you were unknowing of what was to come, 

in front of all of us, you made your vows

the family cried, even that tall brother of yours,

the brusque one, even he could not hold back a 

deluge of emotion - we were still standing,

even the slightly balding red head on crutches. 

you know the one.  

it was a glorious day in Boulder, CO.

now, two years later, quarantined and restless,

the never ending grey of smoke drifting overhead,

here you are, the lovers Chris and Karen,

the result of this love, little Mira.

it’s a happy, if not tired, anniversary,

and we are here to celebrate with you.

Happy anniversary, my beloveds. 

Inhaling books

She said she inhales books.

whole.  Or maybe she eats them.

Complete paragraphs gone, in one gulp

each sentence a mere string of spaghetti slipping

down her throat.

She wheezes in chapters.

The pages rustle in the breeze.  

and when her lungs are full, 

her belly extended, 

she spits out commas and periods

disconnected words that make no sense

winded, not even sure of what she read

so she sits, and she reads, again

and understands.  

Mira in the Mirror

I had to look through the mirror at her,

my grand-child, busily working in her pint-size

office, equiped with pop-up owls and rotating beads,

a pint-size piano and clacking rooster tails.

She was not to be disturbed.  

We're friends now

Grimaces to grins,

Taciturn to tickles.

Cold to cuddly.  

Every morning, I work, today it's about vacuum systems,

Every morning, she works, grabbing, talking, reading

She takes three naps, I take one

We are both tuckered out at the end of the day.

Where are we

Between one home and another house

in the desert, hidden from the searing sun

beneath a metal shade, cold air blasting onto

my toes

man, it's hot, 117F and on the way to Zzyz,

an unknown future including GrandDaughter Mira,

a house with an empty garage

we will occupy this space and form it

as it will form us, this empty space to be filled

with as yet unknowns.

The COVID hairstyle

Soon I will be 16 again

with hair to my waist,

16 again, 18 maybe, or 20

when I ran free, surrounded by young suitors,

my school books in my bag

I had things to do , places to go.

I left my hair on the floor of a salon

when my arms were full

a baby on my hip

no time to even run my fingers 

through my hair

Today, at 62, my hair is almost to my waist

I will soon hold my grand daugher on my hip

my school books are long gone, or collecting

dust in the basement 

There are suitors,

but I live with one.

I will soon be free.  

Looking towards retirement

i trudge upstairs now

later and later, with less and less

enthusiasm

trapped in a COVID-19 hell

of our own making, the sweet smell

of burning wood blowing in from the west

we are in a climate hell

of our own making

Seven makes me move my body

in spite of it all

I'll have abs to show for it

In a  year, I hope to bounce up

the stairs to do something cool,

to travel to far off places 

to retire.

Learning Wolof

There is no past, no future, no translation

from the Occident to the my beloved Senegal

The linearity of American money making diffuses into a 

web of give and receive on the streets of Dakar, by necessity.

here we leave them in the streets, needles dangling

from their arms, the stench of alcohol on their breath

There, I heard the call to prayer five times a day.

Sentences are short in Wolof and adjectives

don't exist,  it's just a question of is it done

or not, or what is it, where is it, how is it

the important questions, succinctly stated.

The positive side of being negative

My daughter often told me how negative I am

That hurt.

But I am negative, having never had Covid-19

and I'm positively thrilled

to not have to worry about long term effects

like heart problems and purple toes,

I'll take being a bit hot

knowing every test has been negative

it's good to be negative

positively wonderful

Tabaski

A picture of a slaughtered sheep,

and one of Iba's mom , cooking peacefully as 

a severed sheep's head lolls peacefully by her foot.

They do not think anymore of my Western sensibilities

A sheep in Senegal for Tabaski is an American turkey for Thanksgiving

except we, the Americans, pay a low income

worker to do the slaughtering work.

The Senegalese are low income, there

is no one but them to take on the task

letting the blood run into the ground, casting

intestines into the sea at certain beaches.

The fish and birds celebrate the day after.

Notes:  The Senegalese people dress very beautifully for this very important holiday!  

The reciprocity of friendship

it's got to be 50/50 or something close
choke cherries in exchange for half a loaf of Moxie
I'll pick up the phone if you do.
love has to be two ways, a kiss for a kiss
I told her this many years ago that I don't do
friends with ghosts, those who don't show up.
she got it
I get it
my friends have to get it.
and now it's so much easier because we don't have to drive anywhere
it's as simple as setting up a Zoom meeting or the phone
or a quick text, no contact needed
preferably not.

Sur la neige

sur la neige
je suis seule

my friends are only six feet away
we can talk across the yard
or across the snow

the virus hangs in the air
for a moment, then drifts off
the snowfield

I'm scattered
the world is upside down
so I stand in the snow
alone.
at a distance.

The optimism of fatherhood

It's Father's Day, his first,
holding his daughter who is gaining weight
on schedule, working to turn over by herself,
and talking!,  talking to him and his wife
they're a family
what optimism to be a father in this world
while angry citizens march in the street,
the elderly fall by the wayside, toppled by Coronavirus,
a President who destroys everything that
catches his gaze
what optimism to hold a small baby, wishing
her 70. 80. 90 years of good health and happiness
in this world, this world that we are destroying
an optimism that we will save it and that
she will have her own daughter one day
in a different world.

Anti/non/racist

I'm learning that I am a racist
having grown up here, in America where
whiteness is the ocean we swim in, the air
we breathe, we cannot avoid it
I am a racist
it pains me in spite of reassurances
that it's not my fault that I see the world this way
having been taught that black people are somehow
less than whites, more violent, predators, poor
because they somehow deserve it.
These are the lessons in America,
I learned them, unwittingly, unwillingly
and now, it's time to unlearn, to shed the
shackles of misinformation, to do something
to make a difference, to respect, to help
for god's sake, to help
we have done so much
to hurt.

George Floyd

I couldn't watch the video of
that white knee on that black neck,
or hear the words, "I can't breathe"
because I have heard it before, I have seen
this, the black man under the white foot,
it happens every day in white America
to Martine, when a man driving by tells her
to go back to Africa
to my neighbor who gets cornered by police
while picking up trash in his yard
and they live within a few blocks of me.
I can't bear it anymore, to see Sam sobbing
in the Naropa grounds
because the hurt goes so deep.
I can't stand it anymore
it's time for change;
it's time to learn;
it's time to vote;
it's time.

Reading the good poetry, the published stuff

I didn't understand how one word connected to the other
or how each sentence related to the next
but this was a good poem, published by a beautiful woman
with a degree in Writing, smart, ...artistic
I'm dumb.
I didn't have the education, the refinement,
the culture.
I just write about "stuff", like washing dishes
and birthdays
the stuff people live
It works for me

Dieting is hard

He said I was fat, dear brother.
He said I had gained weight, dear friend.
I knew it was true as my T-shirt bulged out
unmistakably....
Saying it was age wasn't cutting it
my brother looked nausatingly slim
chocolate covered almonds
avocados
ice cream
cookies
all have calories regardless of
COVID-19
so I keep track and I count
dieting is hard.

The COVID test

the nurses are on the 5th floor of the parking garage
lined up at a 6' folding table, in blue.
the garage is empty except for a few cars clustered
around the elevators.
I had to drive my car and
approach with the windows closed.
Special attention, no one else is there.
One nurse to give me instructions,
while the other prepares the swabs
and I try to pretent not to notice that they
are much longer than what I believe to be
my tender nasal passages.
I'll spare you the details except to
note that the instructions nurse was there
to provide moral support during the procedure.
I'll wait for the results.

Walking through strange neighborhoods

are they strange
or just unknown, unexplored -
As soon as I cross Canyon, now quiet
carless, then stroll north through neighborhoods
that I already know, past the hospital, then
I can become lost as I look in others people's
gardens at flowers I don't recognize
up there, they have driveways.
but there are still no cars in the street
I won't recognize anyone, nor will they recognize me
my flowered mask will shroud me in mystery.
it's far, though, by foot, to reach the
unknown territories of my town
so I sit here on the back porch
and consider
without
moving

why am I not posting pictures on the blog

the question of the day
for me is why don't I post pictures anymore with my poems
how lazy
its true I am slogging through the days which blend one
into another
i have come to recognize the stains on the kitchen floor
and I have named each of the geraniums
I'm too lazy to look for a photo
to match a hastily written poem before
I slink off to bed
knowing I'll be up at 11 and 1 and 3 and 5.
I'm too tired thinking of it to look for a photo
so that is why
I don't post pictures anymore
I'm too tired.

Documentary

I'll document this day with notes,
yellow, pink and green.
a temperature of 99.1F, belief in one thermometer.
brilliant sun and glistening grass
practicing harmonica while walking Bella.
I'm tired
regretting a week without flute,
slim progress in Wolof mais au moins,
je n'ai pas fait une nuite blanche.
it's early yet,
I'll look at the mushrooms along the fence line
and eat lunch on the front porch
my seedlings will get some sun
waiting to be planted
and finally, I will try not to eat too
many cookies or too large a piece of cake
I stepped on the scale this morning,
it was not a pretty sight.

Celebrating a birthday during Coronavirus lockdown

a quiet house.
the birthday boy snuck off for a bike ride
with a friend (the one grounded by his wife)
to ride more than 10 miles from home.
me, I gardened with the house cleaner who sneezed
(me wondering if it was allergies or cocaine)
a few minutes studying the orbital debris environment
and a nap
I didn't write a card or buy a present
he doesn't care about that.
it's quiet, no friends at the house,
only a black dog on the couch
her head on my lap,
we toasted to his birthday
home-made cocktails, clink clink.

I found a harmonica - someone else's

It was a windy ride
buffetted from west to east, then
pushed up the hill to the house
of harmonicas
I remember the first time I saw the
SUITCASE
full of harmonicas
I was so ignorant as to think there
was only one harmonica, the one I
had seen a long time ago
maybe only one person played harmonica
with that single harmonica
he lent me one of his extras
i wonder if he would even miss it
if I never brought it back.

where is my harmonica

not that I have time
between work, playing flute,
planting seeds and watching them grow.
it's a meditation.
I have a guitar in the closet
having played it until my belly was about
to burst 34 years ago
but harmonica, harmonica!
it fits in your pocket!
you can play it in the park!
I had one, I bought it,
and I lost it,
it fell out of my pocket
where is it?

Films to watch

the lives of others
good bye lenin
they were suggested by the man in the screen
it's Zoom, you know, the way we could talk to each other
when the Virus is blooming like a cancer across
our lands,
we don't touch each other anymore.
we just watch the screen and voices come out
of our computers
how will we talk to each after all this is
done?

Missing FaceTime due to a nap

He absolutely crowed when I came downstairs
waving his hands like a small child, jumping up and down
laughing at how HE got to to talk to Karen and baby Mira by
HIMSELF because I was sleeping,
never mind that Karen was upside down the whole time
since he couldn't log in to MY iPad
(no, I don't share passwords, sorry)
nor emails, glasses of wine of other precious things
I admit being a little mad since she is MY daughter,
I am the one who did all the hard work and now he
just comes along for the easy part, crowing gleefully
that he got to see the baby and I did not.

all he remembered

all he remembered after reading a tome
about the glorious history of Barcelona
was the albino gorrilla.
I can relate,
to all the things I remember and
all those that I have not.
but
I'll never forget this,
this lock-down, the endless days of being indoors,
wearing a home-made mask
and waiting
for the fever to break.

restlessness

The walls seem a bit close
the dog annoys me, constantly looking for
an extra bit of food, wandering into the kitchen
only to be shoo'ed out,
I put up a screen so I don't have to look at her.
I still have this fever
and the thermometers lie continuously
I can't do a fully meia luca within the space
I call my gym now, wedged between my bed,
dresser and closet.
the ground is saturated from melting snow
and more to come.
I'm restless, for what, I'm not sure
I just want the chance to recover
from close walls and close company.

thermometer wars

I just want to be well so I'll pick the
numbers on that second one,  the one he bought
today to check the first one, the one that says
I have a fever.
the second one says he's very cold, two degrees
below his regular temperature, the temperature of a
50 year old healthy male
if I can accept that, then I don't have a fever
and I can go to California and see my
granddaughter.
so I'll pick the temperature on the second thermometer
the one that says I'm fine.

playing music

he's supposed to be working
instead I hear the trilling of a flute
the sonorous tenor of the bass clarinet
he is dreaming of music we will play someday
when Duetto is not quite challenging enough
and he learns to count
one two three
he will learn to count.

hoping for eggs and chocolate on Easter

I wish the finches outside the window
would lay eggs for Easter, and baby bunnies
would hop hop so I could see them in the
snow outside the window, turning into chocolate
for my enjoyment on Easter.
I don't believe in the Resurrection, but
chocolate and eggs work well for me.
I'd like to watch the eggs hatch in 17 days,
flying away in a few days like drunken sailors.

The cruelty of spring

winter should go out whimpering,
tail between its legs, hopefully in February
but instead, it comes back, teeth bared, growling
with icy sleet and slush, a wind that bites
Spring is so cruel,
her flowers tilting towards the sun
only to be crushed under heavy snow,
stems brittle from freeze, slumping in
the warmth which surely comes.
Oh Spring, come quickly and stay
chase Winter away.

Reading Billy Collins

for inspiration
even though I have some snobbish
poetry friends who look down upon
his folksy style that you can relate to
instead of some poetry that you finish
and wonder what the f you actually read
and did it have a deep meaning that escaped you
in fact, you can pretend you understood something
or just shrug it off.
I'll take Billy Collins
anyday.

The fever vs Jenny

Really,
it's mild, spiking a couple degrees
above normal, then skulking back down
letting me believe that all is well.
I want to see that baby,
but you, devilish fever, never cracking
100, dog me, ducking and rising,
a whack-a-mole.
Tell me, Fever, who do you represent
and what is your agenda -
perhaps a compromise where you
go back to your cave for one month
and then you can come back!  once
I am home and the baby is safely
1000 miles away.
Let's make a deal.

fear and distance

we wear masks and disposable gloves

keeping out distance, six feet, lurking

suspicious, we grimace at those who are 

bare-faced fearing the plume which emanates

from their mouths with each breath.

not even our eyes smile, being focused

on our lists, our bags, keeping family 

and friends safe at home, and without

knowing, maybe keeping these souls,

shopping for food, safe - perhaps we

are the ones from whom they  need 

protection.

AllI I think about is Mira

All I think about is Mira,
I wonder how she smells, and
I want to touch her skin, yet afraid
of how rough my own is.
I want to study her tiny fingers and toes,
and observe how her mouth moves when
she sleeps, when she's hungry, when she cries.
I want to see her in her mother's arms,
the young woman who long ago came from me,
who I once held in  my arms,
I want to see her daughter in her arms,
but I am here
and she is there,
they are there,
a thousand miles away.

Mira Arrives

She entered the world in her own time
making her mother wait as long as she needed
to be ready, to have her hair done, toe nails
perfectly formed, ready to enter the world
in style.
while the world spins uncontrollably,
with fevers and fears, while death walks the
streets, those that are empty of all life,
life arrives,
Mira arrives
to remind us that life continues
that joy still lingers in the air
the beauty arrives in her own time.

where's my fountain pen?

Where's my fountain pen, now
that I'm writing again.
I have stacks of postcards waiting
to be sent to my mother, brother and sister,
thank goodness my father is dead,
to this friend and that, in French, Wolof and English..
to talk about nothing really, but what is happening now
unbaked cookies on a tray sitting next to me
my will power failing me.....
the pizza in the oven, I know the kale is burning a little
the quiet streets and working at home.
these are the things I will write
to my mother, my brother and sister,
to you, my friends.

waking up late

if I'm up at 1 am, I can call Djiby
and he talks until I tell him I need to go.
if it's 4 am, I can call Saliou, he's at work
and at 10 p.m.  Badou may be online
and last night he instructed me in Wolof.
I'm making progess.
Here in America, we may be sleeping but
someone I care about is awake over there
and I'll sleep late anyway.

Playing music through the pandemic

he doesn't know how to count.
whether it's Lullaby or the Magic flute,
we muddle through musically
while no one walks by and not
a single store is open
there would be no classic metronomes to buy
or new books of duets.
there are no other musicians with whom
to play as we are all sequestered in our homes
I'll play with him, the one who cannot count
but who is here, now, instrument in hand.

the neighbor

for 72, he's spry.
until he got the fever.
he's my neighbor, and we drank together
a whisky some nights, we talked
he's learned alot in his 72 years
and I've learned from him.
he has the fever
and I don't go there anymore
he has the fever
we may not see each other again.

(referring to JJ's neighbor in Fairbanks, Alaska)

Quarantine March 23, 2020

in my conscious lifetime, 

it has never been so calm, where 

birdsong is louder than the roar of 

passing trucks

we walk alone or in pairs,

keeping out distance, 

calling out a hello, a dog is plus,

permission to be out in the sunshine.

we are at 35,000 cases, 

where will we be next week and

the next

the birds will keep singing

I will listen for them.

Getting Stylish in Kabrousse, Senegal

it's important to support the local economy.  I convinced JJ that he should have some clothing made for him, and then I decided to, as well.   JJ is very tall and lanky, and he could use a properly sized pair of pants in addition to his do-all hiking pant/short combo.
First, the customer must buy fabric to bring to the tailor.  Luckily, the fabric shop was two shops away from the tailor.  A beautiful, warm woman was the proprietress;  she was youngish, slender, dressed in a slim fitting, ankle length floral patterned dress.  She clearly demonstrated that a woman can be spectacularly sexy while being fully covered!!

The Sacred Spring

JJ and I had no idea what a puit was.  Saliou told me I needed to bring a scarf to cover my head.  We were going to bathe there.  It was past Cap Skirring and for 5000 cfa, the driver would take us there, wait for us and take us back.  We walked through savannah like forest,  blonde grasses with an occasional baobob arriving at an enclosed area around what appeared to be a sinkhole or shaft filled with dark/algae water.  This was the puit discovered by a sacred man 300 years ago.  Many people go there, including tourists.  Saliou and our driver both drank the water (with no ill effect!) but JJ and I declined. I had covered my head.  I wasn't sure whether we were going into the spring (that's what it is, in fact), but the drive collected four buckets of water, as well as filling several litre bottles to bring home
We each took a bucket and went to simple shower stalls made of cement to bathe ourselves.  Yay, I could remove my clothing!  It was very refreshing, indeed, and we were instructed to not wash for 24 hours to get the full effect.
I chatted with three Senegalese in front of a simple mosque while Saliou went in to pray and we returned to Cap Skirring for lunch.

An afternoon in Cap Skirring

It was hot.  Very hot.  JJ, Saliou and I headed over to get money, food, lunch, sandals, for Saliou to find one of his clients and whatever else may have suited our fancy.  It was hot, very hot, but very dry.  JJ and I learned about Chewing Sticks, the African toothbrush.  It's actually quite a good idea and explains why Africans have such white teeth.  You chew the end until the end is fibrous and  use that to brush your teeth, and stimulate the gums.  JJ had noticed that many people had sticks in their mouths, but they were clearly not cigarettes.  I bought four of these for 100 cfa.

JJ was wearing these impossibly heavy hiking boot and we searched for sandals to fit his size 13 feet.  The initial price was 13.000 cfa with a counter offer from Saliou of 2.000 cfa.  I had to keep from laughing. Saliou puts his offer out there, the vendor sputters in disbelief, Saliou has a take it or leave it demeanor and remains silent, studies his phone and looks around.  They settle on 3.000 cfa and shake hands.  The vendor offers tea and we all settle in for a bit under the shade.

Lunch.  JJ has a beer.  I admit to sneaking a little, just like at home.  It's been super  fun to hang out with him.  We ate in the same restaurant in Cap Skirring three days in a row.  A nice plate of rice with fish, 1000 cfa.  It's very hot.  

friends

JJ Frost joined us in our travels to Kabrousse.  A tall Alaskan, long lanky in stature, a ready smile and a colleague of Dave Lawrence in the domain of permafrost studies.
We also met up with Christine Leveille, a spunky French woman who has travelled alone all over the world. Quite an amazing person, having started her own business after a career in IT.  The people you  meet in such far flung places are sure to be interesting.

Ziguinchor

Not a lot to say about Ziguinchor except to say I've been there, done that, and would not go back.  It's a rather sleepy town with nothing to really recommend it.  There is a large market, one of the largest in Senegal, where you can buy just about anything.  I tried to buy a women's watch but all three were not working.....
I did buy two ladles and a gourd bowl.
The view from our mediocre hotel was beautiful and there was a very hungry baby stork in the courtyard.  It was hot and we left a day early.

and always the sea....

The sea surrounds Dakar as it is a peninsula jutting out to the sea.  I hear the sea from my room at Residence Ba.  I go there and watch horses adorned in ribbons and decorated harnesses, prancing, seemingly proud to pull rickety carts behind them.  In the evening, we weave in and out of active soccer games, all of them could be professionals.  They give us a path through.

Artists selling their wares

Out  on the beach, vendors approach with beautiful things that they have made themselves.  Men who have been lived abroad for many years, sending money back to their families of numerous children (6  children seems to be the usual number).  These guys are not selling cheap junk from China - hand made stuff, their stuff. And we talk - they are proud people .
I bought a necklace from the same guy from whom I had bought a necklace last year!  He remembered us, especially Saliou who is a brutal bargainer.  Even I cringe at his counteroffers.  In the end, everyone is happy and goes away smiling.

For instance, the painter (and maker of my new necklace) started at 18,000 cfa per painting.  By the end I had the necklace and the painting below for 13,000 cfa (about $22).  The man selling the musical instruments lived in Morocco for a long time.