The Last Holiday

CHAPTER TWO

chapter 2:

The wharf called to me in a voice no one ever seems to understand.
They see her as a junkyard where boats are docked and people sit at the beige and milk painted metal and bamboo reception hall, waiting for their relatives, or their boats to depart.

I see her as a beautiful brown lady, with water blue eyes and a stormy voice, despondently calling out, "come to me!", but never heard, and if heard, always ignored.

        As I approached the jetty, I whipped out my camera, which my dad bought for me, as a birthday present earlier this year, and snapped pictures of the scenery.

   The sky still had her majestic alluring smile of many colors on, so I whipped out my camera and snapped the picturesque environment around me: the Baptist church close to the jetty, a looming grey manmade mountain with the large striking clock which, as my mom told me, was the warning bell for invading armies in time past, and it both served as time, striking accordingly, each Dingdong telling the time.

Each clang told the time.

    I whipped out my camera, taking several shots of the striking clock, from unnatural angles, up close and far off, amidst the polished brown iroko bars that housed the giant brass bell, through the bougainvillea trees that surrounded the church compound.

     I stopped to browse through my shots, and I smiled as I saw one particularly beautiful one which had the silhouette of a soldier man in full army uniform stand by the brass church door, his brass buttons of his khaki gleaming in the setting sun.

     Setting sun!
I glanced at the small time bar at the bottom left of the camera screen, and saw the time as 06:17 pm.

     Time to go home.

But like a magnet, the sea drew me to her, and I sat at the wooden jetty with woven handrails painted red, my feet kicking the water.

   Someone waved at me from the reception hall, and I smiled and waved back.

It was my aunt Abi.
I adjusted my glasses, and saw her clearly, in her three quarter denim jeans shorts that she filled rather voluptuously, and her pink tank top covered with a black jacket whose first three buttons were open.

   She waved again to catch my attention, then signalled she was going for evening service at the Baptist church and would be back by seven pm.

    I was to either go home directly or wait for her at the reception hall.

I waved back and signalled my comprehension and agreement, and she turned, moving toward the church.

    Even before six thirty, the dock was swarmed by boats of diverse sizes and colors, packed closed to each other.

As each boat driver recognized me, they each smiled, waved and walked on towards the village, leaving me to my peace.

    After the last one had left, I fiddled with my camera, turning on its flashlight.

It came on, brightening the wooden plank that lay beneath my buttocks.

I snapped pictures of the water, the boats and the trees around.

It was very serene, and I felt that rare joy in being alone again, and an uncontrollable giggle bubbled up in my gut, journeying upwards and reaching my mouth, found its gates to be free, and burst through, leaving me full of contented satisfaction once I was done laughing.

     The time read six - forty five pm, fifteen minutes to when my aunt would come back to take me home.

     By now, darkness descended as the sun, now weary of shining for too long, decided to take a nap, and his estranged wife came home to play with their starry children.