Ode to a Guinean Boy
Ode to a Guinean Boy
By Brian Farenell
(c) 20 Jan. 2000
Ah Beindou, my Beindou. My home. Land of my friends, of my little brothers,
under the clear blue sky. Without a cloud, for the moment. Its pale yellow
huts. Cooking fires nourish the atmosphere. The smoke makes me cough. Madame
prepares the rice. With peanut sauce, I think. Little Bobay comes to see me.
He takes my hand and flashes me his simple yet dazzling smile. I return the
gest. We walk toward the sun setting behind the trees I don't know how many
stories high. These trees salute us, their branches swaying rythmically. The
wind blows. The clowds make their sudden arrival in our insignificant corner
of the worder. Once blue, the sky is invaded by these undesired newcomers.
Rain will be the next to pay us a visit, whether we want it or not. Bobay
looks at me, concerned. I squeeze his hand and he is reassured, without a
word being uttered. His little face, so young, is again calm. Naive. At peace.
Returning to his place, I leave him, still a tender look on his visage. Ah
that smile, which can be neither bought nor sold at any price. That smile
which puts me at ease more than all the kind words, more than all the gifts
offered. That smile is all the moral support I need.
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Page last updated: 25 January '00, 1950 EST
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