Read Online Harmattan by Gavin Weston - Free Book Online

‘No! The Nigerien Guard don’t often have much call to be in Nigeria, never mind Ireland!’ He tapped the photograph. ‘And these twins are what age?’ ‘Eleven,’ I said. ‘Like me.’
    ‘Toh’ For a moment he seemed lost in thought. ‘There are twins in Niamey,’ he said. ‘ Dancing twins – I see them almost every day at the corner near the barracks. At least I think they’re twins. They are very alike.’
    I was intrigued. There were no twins in Wadata. Once, Miriam’s grandmother had told me about twins whose heads had been joined together. They had not lived long. Their mother had been cursed by a witch from Tillaberi, she said. In our own village Madame Monnou had given birth to twin girls, five years earlier, but one of them had died while Madame Monnou was in labour. The surviving girl – Amina – was a friend of Fatima’s. I always imagined that Amina felt like half a person. We knew that twins were powerful yet dangerous, lucky, extraordinary. Bunchie told us that we should fear them, because they could kill offenders and see things which normal people could not see. Often she would repeat the story of Adamu and Hawa (after whom my brother and I had been named). They had been blessed with fifty sets of twins, and had hidden the more beautiful twin of each pair away from the Creator in a secret cave. The god saw that they had deceived him and made the hidden twins invisible for ever. Bunchie said that the spirits who plague people were the descendants of the beautiful twins.
    ‘It is a strange and wonderful thing to watch these lads,’ Abdelkrim continued. ‘They have a big radio which they set on the sidewalk with the volume turned up really loud. They could be ten years old – they are very small, very skinny.
    They could be fifteen… I don’t know. Victims of polio, I think. There are a lot of beggars in the city – and thieves… and other bastards! But these boys do not beg. Oh no! Instead, they dance! What a show they put on. Their legs may not work, but you should see them dance on their hands!’
    ‘They have no legs?’
    ‘They have legs, but they are wasted, thin, useless. They drape them over their shoulders like rags. Their feet wobble like a galloping mouton’s teats as they dance wildly to their music! They are excellent artistes. Every once in a while they will catapult themselves onto their feet. Their dead legs can hold them there – for just a second. Then they crumple. But as they do so they somersault themselves back onto their palms. It truly is an amazing sight!’
    ‘ Walayi! And people give them money?’
    ‘People give them money. Lots of money. They stand around and watch these boys perform and they marvel! It is sad that they cannot walk, and yet they do not seem unhappy.’
    ‘Where do they live?’ I asked. ‘Do they have a family?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ said Abdelkrim. ‘Perhaps. Perhaps not. A great many children in Niamey beg all day and receive only crusts from an adult for the privilege. I hope my twins get to keep their money.’
    ‘ Bakarka? But they are not beggars. They have earned this money. Why should they not keep it?’
    He sighed. ‘Because that is the way things are, Little One.’
    I was spellbound by his stories.
    Abdelkrim placed the photograph of Katie and Hope on the floor again and tapped it with his forefinger. ‘ Toh. Thank you for showing me.’
    Keen to impress, I picked up another photograph and handed it to him. ‘And these are their parents – and their dogs.’ Katie and Hope were also in this picture, kneeling on a grassy surface behind the two dogs with babies’ faces. The girls looked very happy. Katie was hugging one of the dogs, which was sitting upright and looking very proud to be there; as if it thought of itself as a human being, or at least an equal. The other dog was looking away from the camera and had its tongue hanging out. Hope was holding this one on a leash. The adults were also kneeling on the