While waiting for the taxi brousse to leave
the gare routiere, my rucksack roped on top,
my pallid wealth raised hopes of sales among
the numerous street hawkers veining the crowd.
Regretfully declining proffered food,
dark glasses, watches ("one for the other arm?"),
I noticed at the back of the long line
of minibuses, touts and ticket huts
a group of men more ragged than the rest.
This was black Africa where one man's white
sports shoes mocked many sporting none, barefoot
among the dirt and litter, dry just then,
and any flashy watch churned envy
among the unemployed unoccupied
waiting for lady luck to change their lives.
My group of men appeared a level down
in squalor even from the norm with shirts
unwashed and trousers stained and torn as if
no women organised their lives. Just then
a well-built man, erect but past his prime,
parted the crowd, a cubic cardboard box
so huge and heavy-looking on his head
it strained his face and threatened his dignity.
Two of my group of paupers took his load
both of them struggling to lower it until,
once upon the ground, it was surrounded
by the rest of the group expectantly.
I shuffled closer, curious as to what
the box contained and inadvertently
locked eyes with one of those whose prize it was.
I palmed and shrugged my question and beckoning
hands encouraged me to join them all
chattering in a circle round the box.
Then just as I advanced, a matronly
woman severed the circle, knife in hand,
and started to attack the cardboard lid.
Excitement rose as she pulled the cardboard back
revealing - CRABS, monsters, caked in mud
but obviously alive, at least the ones
on top, menacing their claws and crawling
to escape. No chance. The men brought wicker tubs,
truncated cones, and filled them from the box,
covering the seething contents with a sack.
They lifted the heavy tubs by their rope straps
to wear them rucksack-like upon their backs
and marched off jauntily into the town
presumably to sell their share. My man
grinned as he passed, proud of his load and job,
his dirty working clothes irrelevant.
He gave the thumbs-up sign and left. I climbed
aboard the bus, also irrelevant to
the daily life of which I was not part.