18.1.2008 Sunset on the Niger

I’m sitting on the edge of a dripping tangerine horizon; with each drum beat the sun sinks lower into to the jagged charcoal plateaus, becomes one glowing sliver, and levels below the hazy distant hills. I am left with the glowing tableau of soft peach clouds and the sharp spear of a canoe slicing through rippling water. The fishermen are pulling in their nets: a man in front gathering hand over hand the days catch while the thin shadow of a boy pushes the long pole into the mud below, propelling the slim boat through the water.

Black silhouettes moving across sun-streaked water - those of us on the shore appreciate the scene for its graceful harmony: a sunset dance in a foreign land. Scores of westerners in zip off nylon pants line the edge of the broken tiled bar terrace at the edge of the river; sunburnt faces straining into the extended LCD screens, ample bellies thrust over wide set feet in sturdy shoes. They click away to capture the moment before turning back to their cold beers. I don’t have a camera with me, otherwise, I too would probably be clicking away with the rest of them. Instead I pick up my pen and wonder, as I often do, how the scene appears from the eyes of the boy in the boat. This photo-op could mean for him, nothing more than survival.