In JR Alila’s NOT ON MY SKIN, the all-American Harmony City is not exactly harmonious. Individualism, prejudice and arm’s length neighborliness greet Ochome–a poet and suburbanite, who has staked out his evenings in the city’s downtown cafe. Harmony City’s peace hardly is skin deep. There is a daily stalemate at the fertility clinic, and wherever Ochome turns, he sees, hears, and constantly feels souls cursing “Not on My Skin”– a protest mantra against nuances of prejudice he sees, hears and feels in the city café and beyond.
The Café crowd has a few regulars who, like most urban neighbors, remain verbally unengaged individuals. But the sense of peace is often compromised by one Alex, a man considered a mad nuisance by all, but who, in reality, is the only mirror in which Harmony City perhaps can see herself. Alex is the lone gong off which the city can hear herself, the same way a child’s innocent words are the real measure of the moral quality of life in a home.