Just for the Karen Blixen way ...
I had a man in Africa… 
He was lying in the shadow of the verandah, a black cat close to him, the wind shaping his dreams through the thatch roof above and bushbabies on the next tree trying to wake him up.
But he was sleeping, his eyelids trembling to the rustle of branches. When I touched him, he sighed, softly, still so far in his trip, his hand grabbed mine, maybe he smiled, I couldn’t say.
What was before, what came after, I wouldn’t know. He turned his back, kept his secret.
Was he waiting for the tide to leave, for Scarlet to come back, for me to help or to vanish ?
I had a man in Malindi … He loved his cats, he loved his boat, he wasn’t mine. 