click here for part 1
“India”
“And this is Indian gold” she reiterated
“You from Africa?”
“Yes Nigeria”
“This is Africa and this also” she pointed at two of the volunteers
I said brief hellos to the Africans and found out which region of Africa each woman was from. All this time, I still stood. I left my social button at home and was in unfriendly mode.
“Can I take a picture of your earrings?”
“Yes”. She turned towards me as she moved her scarf out of the way revealing the large chunky earrings
fingers. At least six were decked in gold rings. Nostalgia hit as she reminded me of the Hausa women back home; most often a walking hanger for gold — from teeth to ankles
Moreover, I know that Indian gold is not cheap. And such knowledge saddened me. This unassuming refugee was probably wearing most of her material wealth on her person. I was curious to hear her story. Yet I realised I had not earned the right to ask her to unpack.
However, as I sat there and looked at her, vivid images chased themselves across my head. This woman, whoever she was, had enough comforts to pay her passage through to Europe. And extra funds to preserve in the safest way possible; gold trinkets she could carry on her person. A highly liquid asset she could pawn to make her way through life in a new country.
Knowing that culturally, Africans and Asians shared similar culture, I understood the untold story she carried on her. Each piece of gold jewellery represented a memory in her life. Marriage, births, family heirloom and all that. You were gifted gold trinkets on such milestones.
Pain and anger gnawed at me. Pain that we are forced to make a choice on what to pack into that tiny suitcase while fleeing for dear life. That heart-wrenching period when you keep taking things out of the suitcases as you realise your luggage already exceeds the baggage allowance. You are therefore left with the option of gifting it to someone you know or leave it with the corrupt airport officials in the name of ‘baggage overload’
Anger at whatever it was that made uprooting compulsory.
Quickly, I shifted gears. I did not have the mental reserve for anger this morning. So I will simply be grateful for the roses.
Grateful that we were the lucky ones who got away. Gratitude at the memories of yesterday which we can still carry on us tentatively. Grateful for finding community among various clusters in this strange city.
Just grateful that to she who is joined to the living, there is still hope.