9 years

When I was nine years old, I remember feeling as if I was on top of the world and as if I was the centre of the world and the whole world was there just for me. I remember it as a magical time, when everything just fell into place and fitted around me perfectly and where I just glided along and through time in the most graceful and fluid way imaginable. The reason for this perfection of course, was that the whole of that year I existed in my own little world -or huge as it felt at the time- and I carried that world around my everyday business with such a natural conviction, that the world had no choice but to conspire and cast itself around my person.

That year I was given my grandfather's old radio, which I cherished and was glued to from late afternoon after school, till late at night. I had the great gift of being able to play whole songs in my mind, almost perfectly and was able to listen to them on demand, whenever I wanted, on the way to school, or before sleeping, just as if I had a walkman of my own. That ability gave me the sense of being in a movie of my own, as I could switch a song on when I was sat on the bus and looking out and that would give the whole view outside a completely new meaning. The most magical thing was, that very often just as I was playing back in my mind a song I really liked, I would turn on the radio and there it would be, playing at the exact same point as it did in my head.

People seemed to appear as if by magic, just when I needed them, the phone would ring and my friend would be at the other end just as I was thinking of her, the weather moulded itself around the weekends perfectly and I seemed to get what I wanted without even having to ask for it. One day my Grandmother and I went for an evening stroll like we often did, and we came across the most perfect little packet with a velvety bow, immaculately placed in the centre of the pavement when no one was to be seen around. We picked it up and walked slowly around holding it in plain view, but when we did not come across anyone who seemed to recognise it, we opened it, and there was inside it, wrapped in the most delicate and fragrant paper, a colourful candle in perfect condition, in the shape of a doggy, so beautiful and so lovely that we placed it in the cabinet with the tea set and wine glasses where it stayed till today.

The pick of that year came during the summer holidays, when my mother took my Grandmother and I to our two week break on an island, as she always did. That summer we were going to a far away, remote island on the East of the Dodecanese and the boat trip was an overnight one. We normally could not afford a cabin, so we spent most of the journey on deck and then we spent the night at the public "deck class" saloon inside the boat, sat on armchairs drilled to the floor around coffee tables. I remember so vividly that year on the boat, every little detail of the whole boat is engraved in my memory. I spent most of the afternoon sat on the upper deck, on the third horizontal line of the railing, with my legs dangling above the wide sea, using the vertical railing as a guard to stop me from falling over and the top, wide wooden banister as a support and a pillow. I watched out at sea and took in all the textures of the waves and foaming picks, mistaking them for dolphins and waved at the fishing boats which waved and horned back at me. The wind stuck on my long blond hair and gave it a taste of the sea and my fingers acquired a salty, crusty layer on them. The songs played in my head and the time passed as never before and I did not realise when sunset came. I faintly remember my mother telling me repeatedly to be careful and not to lean too much from the railing and finally to get off it. I watched the sunset at the tail of the boat, the white frothy, flat line left by the engine, leading straight to a red burning sun. The dolphins were now following the boat on for real from the South, the younger somersaulting ahead of the adults. The tourists lit up cigarettes and soon the sky darkened and stars became visible.

And then I felt a tap on my right shoulder and I heard a squeak, and when I turned around, there was my best friend from school. I could not believe my eyes and my luck and we both rushed to our parents to tell them of the good news and of how we were going to play together on the boat for a while. My friend and I, were both part of the gymnastics team of my neighbourhood at the time and although I was forced to stop due to my height a little while later, she was destined to become the National champion at running middle distances. She was a very petite, short and thin girl, with the most unbelievable strength and stamina wound up inside her. We took to exploring the whole boat. We started at the bottom and went through all the mazed corridors and cabins. We found all toilets, crew compartments, visited the helm and talked to the captain. Then we worked our way through the restaurants and shops and even slid through to the 1st class compounds. We crossed and zigzagged through the saloon doors, so that we found ourselves on the port side deck one minute and on the starboard side the next. We counted all life boats and safety rings visible and then we reached the upper deck.

By that time it was pitch dark and windy and the metal floor of the boat outside had become slippery with a layer of salty sea spray. With the songs playing in my head (and I assumed at the time in her head also), we took to dancing and spinning around and sliding on the salty floor, moving in unison or pulling and propelling each other with our hands, jumping over oblivious lovers in sleeping bags and skipping and hopping on the metal stairs. We found a way to circle the upper deck without stopping our dancing once, sliding down banisters and swaying each other high up in the air, and out of breath as we were, we heard amongst our giggling and our beating hearts people clapping and cheering. I assume that must be how actors and music stars feel with their audience, because we got so high on it, we circled around the deck twice more, my friend tumbling and pirouetting as she went and me feeling like I was flying, as the wind took my light body up and brought it down metres ahead with each jump. I felt weightless and one with the wind, like a spinning pod, blown above the wide sea, the boat sliding away below my feet, the music loud and clear in my head. The magic of it was indescribable and I remember my sky blue flannel sweater soaked in salty sweat and our shiny skin gleaming with complete happiness.

The next thing I remember was lying on a hard surface and feeling very cold and uncomfortable. Slowly as I came around from sleep, I could hear my name being called from a far away place and with a God-like, echoing voice. The darkness was faintly dispersed as I opened my eyes and it took me a few seconds to orientate myself and realise that I had fallen asleep on the upper deck on a wooden bench in an alcove. The megaphone was calling my name, a very untypical thing for a boat to do, and in my sleepy state I could not comprehend why that was. I found my way to reception, when I realised the time was three in the morning on the big brass clock and they had been looking for me. My friend was nowhere to be seen, I was later told she was grounded, but my mother was there, with an ashen face. She rushed to me and I opened my arms to embrace her and reassure her, when I got the one and only slap I ever received from her across the face and fell backwards on the wet, filthy patterned boat carpet. They had all thought I had fallen off the ship apparently and had wasted hours searching for me. With a taste of the years to come, I was dragged to a cabin we were charitably given by the crew, where I once again slept into oblivion.

But despite this setback, being nine years old still remains for me a most magical time and even today at times I am able to still play back whole songs in my mind, albeit only the very songs I heard in that year. Aretousa has a very strong mind about which songs and what music she wants to hear each day, and tries to put the CDs in the machine herself, recognising them by their covers. Occasionally she gets stuck on a particular song, just like my Grandmother did, and requests and insists that it replays again and again. I use trickery and bribery to nudge her onto something else, but not before she has a very good dance and gets it out of her system.

Music: Muadikime, by Bonga on the Angola 72 album