You gotta love this
guy, his glorious gumption most of all. Exceedingly dark Indian-Malay at a
guess; late sixties and still jovial. Chaps of his aspect made one recall
Rawat's book on the slave trade that had been passed by Zainuddin. Africans
were transported by the various White devils — the Portuguese and English
pre-eminently — to the sub-continent as well as the other better known
destinations. (This student of history had been unaware before Rawat. When the Tamil
lads at Har Yasin crowned their
compatriot at the prata stand the "Nigerian", the full scope of the jest had been little comprehended. The south in
particular saw large numbers transported.) Not for a couple of years has the
man appeared among us; last mango season it must have been, with one or two
seasons omitted. Bicycle propped on its stand precisely in the middle of the
path immediately before the Onan Road crossing, on a sheet of paper beside it two green
fruits poking up at the sky. With the steps at the intersection necessitating a
slow-down perfect location. The purblind she must be white girl with her stick
circled around nimbly at a fair pace; some of the elderly up from the Haig might have been less
than pleased. On an adjacent chair at the end table the fellow awaited his
customers, scanning the faces. On the last occasion the entire crop had been
sold in under ten minutes. (There were more in the chap's carrier, one
remembered from the last time.) Was it the unripened green that gave customers
caution this morning? One chap stopped for a good chat, but without purchase.
Under a quarter hour the man gave it before packing up and pushing off. Only as
far as the traffic light behind it turned out, where he created another
obstacle in the middle of the tiled path to the mall. Pushing his iron horse past the table to the
second stop the smile suggested perfect confidence, nothing to worry about, we'll be right in a jiffy.
Hasan M. Rawat, Slave Trade in Africa
Hasan M. Rawat, Slave Trade in Africa
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