I’ve been told to expect marriage proposals here, but beyond a few “ma Chèrie” and “hey girl” calls in the market, I’ve gotten nothing. Until today! After church, I was waiting in the foyer area for Papa to finish talking to someone, surrounded by a whole bunch of other joyful folks from church. I was happily taking in the crowd of people dressed in every color and pattern of fabric you could imagine when a young man approached and greeted me. I shook his hand, and noticed he was not dressed quite as tidily as most of the folks at the church. Not to say that the people of the church are all glitz and glamour, but everyone always looks clean and put together for Sunday service.
Anyway, after the standard “bonjour, ça va” exchange with this young man, he continues to stand close to me. He says “I have a question to ask you” and I prepared myself for the inevitable proposal. Instead, he asked if I could spare change so he could get lunch. I explained I had already given my money to the offering during the service. He accepted this, but continued looking at me. He pointed to a freckle on my arm and asked what it was. I explained that it was just part of my skin. He pointed to his own skin and I think he was trying to relate the dark spot to his own dark complexion – an interesting comparison. As I started to feel uncomfortable with this particular interaction, I scanned the crowd to find Papa. Then, the young man asked “is there a boy you love?” I must confess it was then that I lied. In the house of God of all places. I said, “oh yes, back home I have someone.” He frowned, disappointed, but suggested that if I did not have anyone, he would gladly marry me because he loved me. Mind you, we met all of 90 seconds ago. At this point I excused myself and looked for Papa more diligently.
On the way home I shared my experience with Papa, who laughed along with me. He was, however, disappointed that none of our fellow churchgoers had intervened. He was adamant that someone should always be watching to make sure no one tries to marry me again, and he would speak with the guard and the elders to make sure that was the case. When I told Maman later we laughed about it again. “Just a boy having fun,” she assessed. No harm, no foul in my book. If I didn’t think there was a good chance that he was slightly inebriated and just wanted a visa to the States, I might have even been flattered.
Oh, the trials of unrequited love.