MANICHAEAN
10-15-2010, 01:03 PM
Her name was Joy and she had a safety pin through one ear. Strange that the apex of recollection in this instance should revolve around an artificial, and somewhat absurd appendage.
I had for some time been passing through the back streets of Jos in Nigeria, taking a short cut between the house and the site. Pick up truck, faded shorts, T shirt, trainers & thriving on the freedom of a young man in Africa for the first time, unrestricted by the trammels of UK conventions or being monitored by an immediate superior.
For some time, while undertaking this regular route, I had at one point glanced away to the right to see a sign down an adjoining narrow street proclaiming the exotic title of "The Congo Junction Hotel." It was normally a bit beyond bounds in terms of going there for a drink, especially when busy in the evenings or on a weekend. But this was mid morning on a Wednesday & the foretaste of apprehension overcame sensible reservations. Just one drink, in & out.
The truck parked, I entered. It was termed a hotel but was in fact built like so many African beer parlours. A central courtyard with metal tables & chairs, surrounded by two-storey regular and faceless accommodation. Empty was the courtyard.
Out came the said Joy, although at this stage I had no knowledge of her name. A hint of a smile in the eyes and teeth. Ibo by tribe with small doe like features and of course the improvised earring. Perhaps the genuine article was inserted when the real customers came during the night? I ordered a beer, and engaged in small talk when it was brought. It was prudent always not to display wealth: cheap watch, no wallet, just some notes tucked in the top pocket of the shirt. So almost as an antidote to my unkempt appearance, I paid for the beer and tipped well. Obviously too well for what she was used to.
By the time of the second beer, an urgent "Psssssst" was heard from one of the courtyard doors. There she was beckoning me inside. Her room; for that is all it comprised, was cramped with two beds curtained off a short distance apart & behind the head of hers, basic cooking apparatus.
Drawing the curtain to her bed adjacent to the outside wall, she indicated for me to lie down. No lack of taking the iniatitive on this girl's part! So in I jump fully clothed.Shuttered window to the left of me, stove behind me, into the Valley of Death rode the singular representative of Britain's calvery. Lord Cardigan would have been proud!
After a suitable period of contortions on a horizontal plane, both our sets of clothes came off. Perhaps I should explain at this point, that my sexual arousement is not at its greatest in such circumstances. I was full of murmured apologies, she was undaunted.
This original and appreciative seminar was however soon to take an unexpected turn. Other personages entered this, till now peaceful abode, and soon the heaves & grunts of crude unimaginative rutting were heard emanating from the also curtained second bed some three feet away. The first movement of the Congo Junction Symphony in B Minor was followed by someone else who was cooking behind my head and chanting. I was not overtly familiar with the actual tune, but Mr Jagger's rendition of "I Can't Get No Satisfaction" would have perhaps been more suitable for the occasion.
The final unbalance to my mental equilibrium was attained by a loud knock on the shutters by someone of obviously male persuasion, in an unknown and forceful dialect,asking something of Joy. Reassured that it was only her boyfriend, and sustained by a distaste to being hacked to death with a machete, I panicked. He had gone, she was ready to resume diplomatic relations, and I was writhing like a python, endeavouring not to shed a skin but to assume one, as I forced first one leg, then the other into some semblance of respectable attire to my lower half. All "Boy's Own" adventure stories come to an end though and I made a heavily improvised and spirited retreat.
Reflections on Joy. We met on different occasions after that, though in less hazardous locations from my perspective. The Plateau Club dance where my friends lusted after her, as she was a good looking girl with a hint of promise in her lions & once in my house. But it was never like the first time.
I had for some time been passing through the back streets of Jos in Nigeria, taking a short cut between the house and the site. Pick up truck, faded shorts, T shirt, trainers & thriving on the freedom of a young man in Africa for the first time, unrestricted by the trammels of UK conventions or being monitored by an immediate superior.
For some time, while undertaking this regular route, I had at one point glanced away to the right to see a sign down an adjoining narrow street proclaiming the exotic title of "The Congo Junction Hotel." It was normally a bit beyond bounds in terms of going there for a drink, especially when busy in the evenings or on a weekend. But this was mid morning on a Wednesday & the foretaste of apprehension overcame sensible reservations. Just one drink, in & out.
The truck parked, I entered. It was termed a hotel but was in fact built like so many African beer parlours. A central courtyard with metal tables & chairs, surrounded by two-storey regular and faceless accommodation. Empty was the courtyard.
Out came the said Joy, although at this stage I had no knowledge of her name. A hint of a smile in the eyes and teeth. Ibo by tribe with small doe like features and of course the improvised earring. Perhaps the genuine article was inserted when the real customers came during the night? I ordered a beer, and engaged in small talk when it was brought. It was prudent always not to display wealth: cheap watch, no wallet, just some notes tucked in the top pocket of the shirt. So almost as an antidote to my unkempt appearance, I paid for the beer and tipped well. Obviously too well for what she was used to.
By the time of the second beer, an urgent "Psssssst" was heard from one of the courtyard doors. There she was beckoning me inside. Her room; for that is all it comprised, was cramped with two beds curtained off a short distance apart & behind the head of hers, basic cooking apparatus.
Drawing the curtain to her bed adjacent to the outside wall, she indicated for me to lie down. No lack of taking the iniatitive on this girl's part! So in I jump fully clothed.Shuttered window to the left of me, stove behind me, into the Valley of Death rode the singular representative of Britain's calvery. Lord Cardigan would have been proud!
After a suitable period of contortions on a horizontal plane, both our sets of clothes came off. Perhaps I should explain at this point, that my sexual arousement is not at its greatest in such circumstances. I was full of murmured apologies, she was undaunted.
This original and appreciative seminar was however soon to take an unexpected turn. Other personages entered this, till now peaceful abode, and soon the heaves & grunts of crude unimaginative rutting were heard emanating from the also curtained second bed some three feet away. The first movement of the Congo Junction Symphony in B Minor was followed by someone else who was cooking behind my head and chanting. I was not overtly familiar with the actual tune, but Mr Jagger's rendition of "I Can't Get No Satisfaction" would have perhaps been more suitable for the occasion.
The final unbalance to my mental equilibrium was attained by a loud knock on the shutters by someone of obviously male persuasion, in an unknown and forceful dialect,asking something of Joy. Reassured that it was only her boyfriend, and sustained by a distaste to being hacked to death with a machete, I panicked. He had gone, she was ready to resume diplomatic relations, and I was writhing like a python, endeavouring not to shed a skin but to assume one, as I forced first one leg, then the other into some semblance of respectable attire to my lower half. All "Boy's Own" adventure stories come to an end though and I made a heavily improvised and spirited retreat.
Reflections on Joy. We met on different occasions after that, though in less hazardous locations from my perspective. The Plateau Club dance where my friends lusted after her, as she was a good looking girl with a hint of promise in her lions & once in my house. But it was never like the first time.