MEMOIR
Purple Rain: Trippin’ Balls at Victoria Falls
River guides’ night off in Zimbabwe
A steel drum band was playing poolside and the afternoon cooling when I pulled up to the bar next to Jimmy. He was leaning on the bar in sandals, shorts, African print shirt and a dogtooth necklace. He always seemed bigger to me than he was. Looked like ZZ Top with his long brown beard, ponytail, and sunglasses. His gin and tonic stayed aloft, mid-drink, as he turned his head towards me. His voice rumbled up from a cavern of phlegm so deep it could be mistaken for the well of wisdom. “You leavin’ tomorrow?”
“Flying to Bangkok tomorrow, then on to New Guinea.”
“I’ll buy you a drink.”
Jimmy ordered us drinks and, as we waited, he pulled a cassette of Purple Rain out of his pocket and returned it to me, asking for the hundredth time with growling incredulity, “What the hell is ‘purple rain’?”
I sang, “I never meant to cause you any sorrow.”
Jimmy sang, “I never meant to cause you any pain.”
We both sang, “I only want to see you laughing in the purple rain. Purple rain, purple rain.”
Jimmy said, “It’s a full moon tonight. We should check out the moonrise over the falls.”
