(Continued from Assinie part 1 posted on 3/18/19)

Dad and I walked quickly to the shack. I had to skip to keep up with his pace. 

“I want you to stay by my side, honey. Don’t wander…okay?” Dad said to me quietly as we approached. He grabbed hold of my hand and gave it a squeeze. 

I could feel that Dad was more anxious than usual. He had a nervous energy about him. His free hand was tapping against his leg to a silent beat. It made me feel uneasy.  I stayed close and held his hand tightly. 

His nerves were because of what happened last weekend. The shopkeeper had been in a cantankerous mood. He had demanded twice the amount that Dad usually paid. Dad didn’t have the extra money so made to walk out empty-handed. This enraged the shopkeeper. Two robust men appeared out of nowhere and blocked Dad from leaving. They were angry that their ruse hadn’t worked. Luckily the two men were distracted by an Ivorian family entering the shop. Dad saw his opportunity to escape and ran to the car. They came out of the shop and chased the car down the road waving their fists with anger. The red dust that billowed from behind the car covered them from head to toe.

This time, the shopkeeper seemed in a calm and pleasant mood. His tall and lanky frame leaned against the rickety shack entrance. He wore ripped jeans and a light pink stained t-shirt.  A piece of sugar cane dangled from his mouth. 

“Ndo e me” the shopkeeper said hello, managing to suck his teeth at the same time.

“Ndo ame” Dad replied, in his faltering Senoufo. 

The shopkeeper ushered us through the door like royalty, almost salivating at the mouth, anticipating the good deal he was about to make. He switched into French, the more common spoken language

“Le mème, côme d’habitude?” asking if Dad wanted the usual bottle of Gordon’s Dry Gin. Dad nodded and promptly paid him cash, upfront and in full, as expected.

The shopkeeper grunted his approval after checking the amount of CFA francs Dad had given him.  

After the hasty purchase, we hurried back to the car. As we jumped in, Dad said 

“Well that went without a hitch this time” He breathed an audible sigh of relief and rubbed Mum’s shoulders as if to relax them. 

“Got the gin!” he said proudly holding up the bottle. 

Despite the smooth and amicable transaction, as he slid into first gear and drove back onto the main road, I remember seeing his eyes flitting back and forth through the rear view mirror checking for any unusual behavior. Once the shack was out of sight his body relaxed.  

Whilst struggling to put my seat belt on quickly, I glanced down and caught sight of my mud-caked feet and shoes.  The rain, atypical for this time of year, had fallen hard for the last few days and created large red puddles. I had fallen into a mud-filled pot-hole whilst running to the car. With the added humidity of the rainfall and the constant dampness of the jungle, mosquitoes were having a field day biting into my pink juicy flesh in a frenzy. I swatted half a dozen away from my face and legs hoping they would leave me alone or doze off with the cold air of the conditioned car.

We got to the marina a little tired and grumpy but in good time. The entrance to the marina had a corroded gate across it, with just one bar across the top. The anti-climactic entrance gave no clue to the paradise that lay beyond. Quinn, Simon and I could hardly contain our excitement. All three of us hung our heads out of the rear windows; Simon and I pointing out with delight everything that we could see; new boats, the sound of the gentle waves lapping onto the lagoon shore, a vendor selling fresh mangoes.

“Kids, hold your horses… just a few more minutes and we’ll be there” Mum said.

At the gate, there was a small, blue shack with the same guardien in it every time. He always had a rather large cigarette dangling from his mouth. We could smell the smoke when he let us through and I remember that it smelled quite different to Dad’s cigarettes. He had a faraway look about him as if he couldn’t quite focus on what was going on. He waved Dad through without checking his papers which was strange, but a welcome change to the usual paper checking fuss.

There were boats everywhere. Most of them were docked out of the water on cradles. A few bobbed in the marina bay; their white hulls acted like beacons to the algae and seaweed in the lagoon, looking like green skirts swaying in the water at the hull of each boat.  There were colorful wooden fishing boats which had seen better days with their peeling paint, some devoid of color, some with indescribable hues of orange, green, blue and red. Most of them had a neglected look. But there were nicer looking boats too.  Some small. Some large. Shiny white ones with fancy names like Pegasus, Odyssea, Wind Dancer, Fantasea. Ours was cradled in between the old and the fancy. She was a cute, little, white Dyna-ski boat. Big enough for the four of us and powerful enough to pull us around the lagoon on our water skis. We called her Dyna.

We all had our jobs to do once we arrived at the marina – a drastic contrast to our lives at home in Abidjan where we had domestic help for everything ranging from cooking, cleaning, washing, making beds to gardening and the like. We didn’t mind doing these jobs as we knew it was worth it for the fun that we had every weekend. It was part and parcel of the whole adventure.

Simon’s and mine was to take the empty gas drums, which had been depleted the previous weekend, to the filling pump. There was no electricity at the beach so everything was powered by portable gas including the fridge, stove, and lights. 

Simon and I started to make our way towards the pump, carrying a drum in each hand. They were light when they were empty. Quinn, by this time, was beside himself with joy. He had leaped out of the car, his shiny, golden body quivering with anticipation, tail wagging like crazy. He followed at our heels, nose to the ground, barking in excited bursts and sniffing at everything and anything he came into contact with.

All of a sudden, not too far in the distance, we heard whimpering and barking. In a flash, Quinn was off and disappeared towards the disturbing sounds. Simon and I followed him quickly, noticing the whelps and growls getting louder. We rounded a corner and saw two large dogs, a black mutt and a big German Shepherd, growling and pawing at each other. The latter had blood dripping from its ear, falling in gloops onto the sandy ground. Quinn, over the top excited, tail wagging uncontrollably. He looked desperate to join in the fight. He began to circle the two dogs hysterically. This distracted the dogs from each other and the mutt suddenly lunged at Quinn.  Simon and I stopped dead in our tracks. Quinn was a feisty cocker spaniel, but he was no street fighting dog.

Seconds after, I dropped the gas drum and ran towards him.

“No…!” I shouted. But he didn’t hear me. The two dogs went for him and suddenly it was a three dog fighting show. I was horrified and continued shouting at the top my lungs for Quinn to stop. The sound of the dogs lashing out at each other was unbearable. At the corner of my eye, I could see a group of men with mean eyes sitting together, egging the fight on. I noticed money and dice on a makeshift wooden crate table. They grinned at us, showing their bright yellow-orange teeth. They stared with blood-shot eyes. They sucked their teeth. My smallness was a stark contrast to their bulky stature. My short blond hair a stark contrast to their black afro curls.

Quinn was being gnashed up by the two dogs. They seemed to be taking in turns to lunge at him and gnarl at his delicate ears. Simon was still paralyzed, watching the scene in shock.

I could feel my face turning an angry red. I was furious but my body couldn’t move. The men’s eyes burned holes in my clothes and shoes. Quinn’s whimpers were getting louder. This jolted me out of my awkward state into survival action mode. I hesitated only for a second before plunging into the mess of fighting dogs. The mutt lashed out with one of his paws scratching my left arm with his sharp claws. I winced and kicked him with all my might. This violent action surprised the two dogs; they froze for a second and at that moment, I grabbed Quinn’s collar, yanked him towards me, and ran as fast as I could, not daring to look back. I could hear Simon’s short breaths right behind me. After a few minutes, I realized that we weren’t being followed and all I could hear was our own heavy breathing.

“You’re mad” said Simon. “Why did you do that?” he said breathlessly

I pulled myself up tall and glared at him and retorted “What was I supposed to do? Leave Quinn to get mauled by those mangy dogs?”

Crouching down to Quinn’s level, I looked him over quickly. He had quite a few scratches that needed attention, especially on his ears, but I knew that Mum would be able to fix him with the first aid kit she kept with her at all times.  He looked up at me with sad eyes and started licking his wounds, all the while whimpering.

“There’s a good boy. It’s all okay now” I said, patting him lovingly. Quinn’s tail started to wag slightly though still in pain.

“Wait till Mum sees,” Simon said, “she’s going to kill us. No, she’s going to kill you, Sam…”

We ran towards where Mum and Dad were putting the bags and supplies in the boat. The boat was already in the water. I could see that one of the marina workers was helping them with their bags.

Suddenly, I remembered the gas drums. “Oh no! We forgot the drums!” I said, looking at Simon and guiltily looking at Mum. In our haste to leave the dog fight, we’d left the empty gas drums by the filling pump.

“What in the world happened to you two?” Mum frowned and looked at us with concern. We recounted the story in fits and starts whilst she nursed mine and Quinn’s wounds.  The bright red mercurochrome stung on the cuts and scrapes. Due to my tendency to getting into trouble, the stinging didn’t bother me at all. 

She chided, “Really Samantha, that was very irresponsible of you. You should have called Dad or me. You could have been really hurt”

I said my usual sorries and soon we were all clambering in the boat. The same marina worker who’d helped Mum and Dad with the bags volunteered to fill up the drums. He did this in record time and placed the drums inside the boat. Dad thanked him whilst placing a substantial tip into his expectant hands. 

“Right, come on guys, let’s get this show on the road” Dad said. He’d been listening to all our shenanigans from inside the boat. 

As my feet touched the floor of the boat, he scooped me into his big arms and gave me a big bear hug, a smack of a kiss and a tug on my cheek.

“What a brave girl you are my darling! Glad you’re okay” he said proudly. As he looked over at Quinn continuously licking his wounds, he chuckled.

“That silly dog, I don’t think he’ll be trying anything like that again anytime soon”

Dad, ready at the helm, pulled the throttle all the way down and away we went. 

Once we were coasting along the middle of the lagoon, Dad shouted over the din of the powerful engine.

“Sam, want to take control?” 

Injuries and bruises forgotten, I grinned, scrambled over the bags, food supplies, and full gas drums and took hold of the steering wheel. 

“Take it away Sam!” shouted Dad with a huge grin on his face.

He fumbled in his bag, took out a packet of Gaulois cigarettes, rested one on his lips, lit it and inhaled deeply. His look was that of deep content. I remember later on in his life, once we moved away from Abidjan, he shared this memory with me being one of the moments he cherished each weekend. 

Dad had taught me to drive a boat at the age of eight. The boat felt light and easy in my hands. We glided over the steely green brackish water, whizzing by countless birds, bobbing on the lagoon’s edge, watching us fly by. Majestic cranes stood long-legged at the shore, swifts and swallows skimmed low, white-backed vultures watched from way above. There were local villagers throwing large fishing nets into the lagoon from their long wooden boats. Their young kids waved frantically to us passing by with huge smiles on their faces. 

Flashing by, passed the muddy green water lapping at the shore, a thick canopy of palm trees and bush met our eyes as far as we could see. This green, plush world, was a world away from the bustling beige sandy city we had just left behind. I can remember imagining the odd crocodile head popping up watching us go by, although there were never any official sightings. Mum and Dad sat in the aft, on a soft plastic covered cushioned bench behind me. Quinn was at my feet, jerking every time we hit the slightest wave. He wasn’t partial to boats. Simon was up on the bow relishing every moment like I did. I felt exhilarated and powerful.  It was a magical moment of carefree happy abandon. For all of us.