‘Good God the heat, I`m going for another swim’
‘Me too, love the surf, I could stay in for ever’
‘Come on John, put that book down and come in with us’
‘No, you lot go, I must finish this chapter’
We had driven down to the coast yesterday from the hot wet blanket heat of Douala and were relishing the breezes off the Atlantic. The journey had been fraught, with the usual unofficial tolls. That is a road block, and a plank with six inch nails in stretched across the road, surrounded by a group of young blacks, holding machetes and demanding money. You paid and the stick was lifted, God help you if you had no change.
We`d passed the regulation dented and rusty, yellow Datsun Sunnys with unbelievable human loads. Elbows and feet sticking out of every window. Rooves piled high with every kind of household needs. On hills we`d overtaken apparently driverless lorries, only to see the driver on the other side of the cab having a pee onto the side of the road as the lorry climbed up the hill. We drove behind lorries piled high with smoked monkeys, euphemistically called bush meat and looking disconcertingly like human children.
We`d passed numerable crashed and overturned vehicles of all sorts.
Tired, hot and dusty, we unpacked, each in our designated tiny hut, with air conditioning sounding like the engine rooms of the Titanic. Somebody had told us of this new place on the coast. The air conditioning had been the final temptation to drive down for the weekend.
Changed and unable to wait any longer, we rushed into the sea. The rolling surf embraced us and drew us into its silky sensation. Cool water was wonderful after the long hot drive. Except for John. He`d started a Jack Higgins novel and we hadn`t been able to get a word out of him since, he`d always been the same with books.
After the swim we minced across the red hot sand, which seemed even hotter after the sea, to a small, solitary bar at the other end of the beach. We would enjoy a beer whilst we could, no doubt it would run out some time over the weekend, but that was Cameroon.
Looking along the curve of silvery sand with nobody in sight was so calming. Just John lying on a hammock, one of several under the few palms, lost in the denoument of his book.
We were well into the second Jupiler, when Mark said quietly.
‘Who`s that with John?’
We all turned, peering into the glare, to see John being gently rocked by a young, very beautiful black girl.
‘No idea’
‘Where the hell did she come from?’
‘God knows but she`s not going away’
We watched, it was like a scene from a play. John looked up and said something to the girl, she replied, the rocking continued. John, unable to continue with his beloved Higgins in peace, obviously thought escape to the sea was preferred. He got out of the hammock and jogged, nonchalantly, into the surf, The girl disappeared. We turned back to our beers.
‘John`s been in a long time, is he alright?’
‘He`s going to be shattered’
‘That surf can be pretty exhausting’
‘What`s stopping him coming over for a beer?’
Then we saw what. Leaning against one of the palm trees was the girl, holding John`s towel. We could see he was starting to tire, he`d stopped swimming and was walking up and down the edge of the sea. The girl approached with his towel held out. John unable to stay in the water any longer and with nowhere else to go, finally submitted to being dried by this gorgeous girl. What next? We`d stopped talking and couldn`t take our eyes off the theatre unfolding before us.
‘He`s coming over’
‘He`s bringing her with him
‘Who the hell is she?’
‘God knows, but it looks serious, he`s bringing her to meet mother already’
We laughed and turned to our beers, waiting for the couple to join us. John, silently, pulled out a chair and sat down, the girl did the same. Nobody spoke. She reached over to a packet of cigarettes and helped herself. Still nobody spoke.
‘Light?’ she requested
Mark was the first to recover. He stretched across the table to light the girls cigarette.
‘Thanks’ she sat back, slowly, into the rattan chair, moulding her body to its shape. Long legs coiled down into the sand.
‘Er, where do you live?’
‘Senegal……along the coast’
‘On your own?’
‘Temporarily’
‘Mmm, what`s your name?’
‘You can call me Marta’ she turned her head, staring up the beach.
John shuffled a pack of cards lying on the table. The distraction was a relief.
‘Anyone want a game?’
‘Yes why not’
‘Strip Jack naked would seem appropriate’ Mark was trying not to laugh.
John dealt the cards ‘Very funny’
We all concentrated on our hands. This was the most bizarre card game any of us had ever played. Do we ignore or include the? She didn`t seem to care what we did. Inherent politeness stopped us from asking her to go away. She had no difficulty with the situation. She eyed the three men in the party like specimens in a shop window. Which one would she choose?
She slowly stubbed out her cigarette and reached for John`s beer, drinking deeply from it. How far would she push us?
‘This is ridiculous’
‘What your hand?’
‘You know what I mean’
‘John you brought her’
‘Well not quite, she brought herself’
‘Well get rid of her’
We were very uncomfortable. Talking about her somehow spread the guilt of rudeness. John turned to the girl, shrugged, holding his hands out.
‘You see…’
‘Okay, I`m going’ Shrugging back she got up and reached for the cigarette pack as she rose.
‘See you all again’ She walked, or rather glided along the flat, hot sands. We watched till she was a shrinking, pygmy figure in the distance. She looked so dignified. It was us who felt awkward.
‘Phew, that was embarrassing, don`t do that to us again John’.
‘What! I didn`t do anything, I can`t help it if my fantastic body pulls the birds,’
‘More like your fantastic money,’
‘Or Marks fantastic fags.’
‘She was hard faced though.’
‘Or desperate, how else can she earn a living?’
We saw her later that night. On the arm of a small, seedy, unkempt white man. The contrast made her look more exotic and beautiful than ever. But, somehow more vulnerable.