Gambia-l,
        Here is another excerpt from my story. Again, these excerpts are
randomly selected.

                                                   *

      She: a ravishing beauty, tall, chocolate colored, and stoutly built.
Her eyes resembled that of a cat's glowing in the dark. Her knock-kneed,
shapely legs, revealed much to be panted when she wore a dress that fell
below the knees. Her skin wore a lot of charm, soft, delicate, and sensuous:
it made people to remark constantly "you have a beautiful skin." Her hair
grew long, black and curly, and rested supinely just over her neck. Her face,
round and smooth, like a pancake, radiated an angelic look that seemed out of
the ordinary. She was a flower so gorgeous, the nectar that attracted the
bees; sometimes one wondered if she was not the bride of a genie.

     Neneh, notwithstanding all her qualities of beauty, that allured most
men to her like a magnet, became quite indifferent to her appeal. If she had
willed, she could have married herself to rich and famous people; she could
have possessed any man she hungered. But, she was so downright ordinary. She
could adorned herself in the wardrobe of opulence, instead, she glimmered in
less expensive fabrics, and quenched in her own natural poise. She didn't
need to see herself in a mirror; she mirrored herself in the devastating
looks that men flung at her.

     She was fiercely determined, like a tigress; rudely ambitious and
painfully strong-willed. She resolutely persevered to achieve her goals that
belied the cool, calm and collected personality that stubbornly refused to
give in to her challenges. Her memory was photographic, remembering every
minute detail, every occurrence, event or circumstance, that built,
demolished, rebuilt her life, like ants crushed in the sand tirelessly
building and rebuilding their palaces.

     She dreamed of living in her own romantic world, replete with
candlelight dinners in an exquisite hotel restaurant; a cruise voyage that
drifted slowly to an imagined Caribbean island; holiday resort and beaches,
and once in a while having fun in a night club or Casino. But, her youthful
innocence snatched away from her, she filled the cup of these experiences
only in her dreams. She married in her teens, only after completing a junior
secondary education.

     Neneh bore children at a tender age, as tender as the cradle of her
puberty; and she adored her children unsparingly. She grew to love her
husband, Samba, passionately. She was obstinately faithful, unrestrainedly
loving, and consummately caring.

   "Darling, are the children awake?" Samba asked Neneh. "I want to part with
them before I leave."

    He had just returned to his house, in the other side of the compound,
after bidding farewell to his father.

    "It is almost daybreak, I can wake them up," his wife calmly responded.

     She trudged slowly into the children's bedroom, and diligently as a dove
roused them from their sleep. Her eyes swollen, as if stung by angry bees,
she had cried most of the evening. Only God, and only God, knew how long her
husband would be away.

     "Are all your clothes packed?" she asked

     "I don't have much to take with me. I have given away most of my
clothes," he replied.

     "Napa, come and say bye-bye to Papa," Neneh said.

     He leaned on the frame of the bedroom door, rubbing both his eyes with
the back of his two hands. He rushed into his father's open arms. Samba
hugged and kissed him fondly. He was only four years old.

     "Where are you going, Papa?" he whined.

     "I am going away for a while; I will be back soon. You take care of your
mommy, will you?"

      He clutched on to his father very tightly not wanting to let go off
him. His father rocked back and forth with him, whispering his favorite songs
on his ears.

     "Lo-lu, Lo-lu," Samba called.

     Her daughter emerged from the bedroom, walked dejectedly into his
father's arms. She had been too inconsolable when she learnt that her father
was going away. The look in her face, even though she just woke up from her
slumber,  was as pitiful as a hungry beggar on the sidewalk. She couldn't
understand why her father had to travel to some strange place, and left them
all behind. Now she would be left with only her mother and other siblings:
her brother and baby sister.

     Lolu was nine years old. She was cute, shy and sharp like a razor. Most
people contended that she was too intelligent for her age. She had her
mother's eyes, the big, bluish pupils that seemed to flash like a light bulb
in the dark. Her legs were long, skinny and knock-kneed. She held a lot of
promise, masked like a false face, in that she relished warmly going to
school. She would wake her mother up very early in the morning to prepare her
for school.

    Samba nurtured a cherished relationship with his daughter. He always
amused in the stories she told him whenever she came back from school. She
shared with her father every little secret she had.

    "Papa, you know what happened in school today?" She mischievously,
giggling, whispered in her father's ear. "The teacher asked that we work out
a math problem on the board. No one in the class could get the answer except
me."

    She then smiled gleefully.

    "Well done, Lolu. You did a great job. That reminds me: when I was much
older than you, I remember a day in school when I was the only one in the
class who could answer the questions from our geography teacher. I sat alone
in the class as a hero, while the rest of the class 'monkey-danced' on the
school courtyard."

   She then laughed uncontrollably.

    When Lolu and her father shared those close moments, Neneh always watched
admiringly as the affection between them unfolded like a ripened flower bud.

     Neneh and Samba dated for a while before they finally married. Samba had
known her as a child, going to her compound constantly on errands. Their
families shared the same street in Banjul, separated only by few compounds.
How many times, had Samba walked barefooted into her compound, and went
behind her grandmother's slanted, rhun-palm supported 'keringting' house,
with gaping holes covered with old clothes from which the cement plastered
walls had fallen. The center of his attraction was the pigeon cage owned by
her older brother. Samba was a classmate of her older brother.

     When Samba needed a wife, he had not looked far. The young woman he
barely noticed as a child, had grown up a tastily water melon to be gulped
thirstily. The cultural taboos, like dried salted fish, dictated whom people
should and should not marry. He remembered vividly his experience with Cordu,
and reckoned that a society that glorified the era of the nobility, the griot
and the goldsmith, being class stratifications, had no mercy for people who
defied such arrangements. Even Neneh's stunning beauty had to be ascribed as
a reincarnation of the bride in a spirit world.

    Lolu, however, did not wait for her parents to get married. She was born
a little less than a year when they started to date.

    By now all the children had waken up except the sleeping toddler. Samba
walked into the bedroom where his twelve months old daughter slept soundly.
He knelt at the foot of the bed, lowered his head closer to the face of the
sleeping child, and kissed her as softly as a pillow, on the forehead.

   "Oh! my cute little baby. I love you, my pretty, sweet little baby," he
chanted.

    He tearfully looked at his daughter, a peaceful package of joy in that
crib, and restraint himself from crying aloud. Was it right that he had to
leave his family to make this journey? Had he compromised his family for his
social activities now deemed political? If he stayed he knew what would
happen to him. Those who saw him as a threat would only be too happy when
they reduced him to a scum. He would not willingly be their prey.

     He confronted his wife in the living room. He opened his arms like a
dancing butterfly, and Neneh eagerly fell into his warm embraced. They
kissed: deeply and tenderly. They both cried silently. They flatter each
other effusively.

    "My heart overfill with tears of joy, although I part with you with such
scented sorrow," Samba said. "My eyes fill with contentment, and gratitude
that I sweetly harbored for you. You are the oasis of my love, from where I
drew my strength and comfort. I love you."

     "I love you too, Samba. I love you so very much. I derived the greatest
pleasure caring for you. May God sustain our love, and deliver us from the
wagging tongues who want to tear our love apart," Neneh reverently said.

      She had a very good character, and exhibited all those traits in the
enduring years she had married Samba. How many times, had she sat in an empty
house, while Samba trod the dusty streets of Christekunda, organizing and
mobilizing. How many times, had she borne the silence of the night, while
Samba stood in a classroom with gaping windows and a hurricane lamp in a
corner, teaching some illiterate adults how to read and write. How many
times, had she yearned for his laughter, while he was out there on some
social crusade she could hardly fathom. And, how many times, had she sat by
the roadside, doing some petty trading to supplement the family income.

      She wore the cloak of patience, draped mournfully over her firm body.
She stood steadfastly behind her husband in his most difficult moments. When
they could not provide for the family for any given day, she would quietly
ran to her mother's compound and borrowed rice and fish money. When the
hardships became so overbearing, she had to resist the temptation to look at
other men who persistently wooed her. They tried to exploit her marital
problems and offered her financial help. But, with fortitude and resilience,
and with the cunnings of a fox, she had carried on her daily hurdles
silently. She refused to accept help from anyone other than her immediate
family members....

     Rene


NB: Does anyone know the equivalent word or translation in English for
"Keringting".

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