The Value of a Pound

“Oooo, hello blondie. You married?” The call comes from a group of young men unloading produce near where I’m walking.

I hold up my ring finger, complete with a cheap, fake gold band, and keep moving through the market.

“Your husband must be a very rich man.”

The people are different here in the south – more relaxed, cheekier, up for a laugh, not so tourist-weary. It’s meant in the spirit of fun, but after a couple of weeks it’s become tiring. I’ve tried ignoring them, tried covering up like a local, but that only increased the taunts, the calls of “Are you cold?” despite the temperature pushing past 40 degrees.

“He is,” I laugh.

“Hey, how much you cost?”

“You can have me for ten pounds,” I say with a smile, and they dissolve into laughter.

By midday the sun is directly overhead. I sit in a café drinking tea and coca cola as the village slows down for the worst of the heat. As I’m leaving, a small boy of about 10 approaches me. I’ve seen him around, a child of one of the local fishing families. He’s scrawny, all knees and elbows, with a T-shirt two sizes too big and bare feet, dusty from the road.

He approaches me, eyes cast down, feet shuffling.

“Hi,” I say encouragingly, wondering he’s going to ask me for pens or stickers that we’re always told to bring with us.

“Excuse me,” he says holding out his hands. In it is a jumble of coins and notes. “Ten pounds, yes?”

Shock moves immediately to my face. We stare at each other for a few long seconds, until the realisation of his mistake hits him. His hopeful expression screws up in shame and before I have time to react, he turns and flees. Finally, I regain my composure and call out clumsily to him.

“Hey! It’s okay.”

Except it’s not, and we both know it. Guilt starts to wash over me – and I wonder if it’s reasonable, to feel guilty for humiliating a child even when it’s not your fault. Even when he’s trying to buy you like a camel.

The next morning, I decide to get up for sunrise before leaving for the airport. I see the boy in the distance on one of the boats, fishing, shirtless now. Old enough to work for a living, to be enamoured with a white foreigner, but too young to understand the nuances of an adult joke. Arms raised, thin but strong, pulling the net in against the brilliant light of a perfect sunrise.