We followed Emmanuel along the dirt road, walking with the slow easy gait we had developed since arriving in Africa, due to the relentless heat. A handsome weaverbird looked down at us from a tree before flying off across our path in a flash of vivid yellow.
"Toubab (white man)," called the children, running out from all directions. They did not ask for sweets or money, but followed us up the road with big watermelon smiles.
Emmanuel was our room-boy at the hotel and we had promised to visit his family on his day off. When we reached their compound, we admired the sleek pigs which were rooting round the yard. Then we entered the house, pausing to become accustomed to the loss of bright sunlight. On two sagging cast-iron beds, the family sat in two polite rows.
Emmanuel motioned us to a bench against the opposite wall. We sat, watched shyly by several pairs of curious brown eyes. As I began rummaging through my bag, the children slowly approached, dropping their reserve when I produced some sweets. I lifted a toddler onto my lap where he inspected and pulled at my strange white skin. After a while, Emmanuel beckoned. He led us down a passage to a room leading off it. We sat on the bed which he, at the age of twenty-one, shared with two brothers. A rail at the bottom of the bed held the few clean and neat clothes that he and his brothers shared. Above were the rough exposed timbers of the roof structure.
A brightly coloured poster of the infant Jesus with Mary and Joseph dominated the room. His family were among the Christian minority, most Gambians being Muslim. On another wall was a list of ten neatly hand-written rules for football: 'Always pass the ball cleanly', ‘Kick the ball into touch, not your opponent’.
He and one other brother were the only ones working and looking after the other fifteen members of the household, but as they also had the pigs, they were relatively affluent. As if to prove this, he sent a younger sibling off to the shop. He returned five minutes later with two opened bottles of Coke which he handed to us, mine with a pink plastic cup. We didn't dare to offend them by offering to pay. When we felt we'd stayed long enough to be courteous, but not long enough to outstay our welcome, we rose. Emmanuel accompanied us out to the road, surrounded by much waving and smiling from his family. I hoped the T-shirts we planned to give him would help show some appreciation for their hospitality.
First published in VISA issue 69A (October 2006)
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