So I leave Uxbridge on my way to Regent Street to get my Brother’s suit fitted for my wedding. While on the platform at West Drayton station waiting for the FGW train to Paddington, I notice an elderly man. He was black and I remember thinking he looked like Nelson Mandela. He had the hints of grey as well as the sunken eyes that told of vast experiences. There was something about him that drew me to make conversation but my sunglasses were on, that and my bright green jumper made me feel lost. You can’t approach a Mandela lookalike dressed like that.
This man intimidated me, because he represented what I had began to – and probably already had – lost. So I kept my sunglasses on and put my hood on. Picking a seat on the furthest end of the carriage I spent the journey staring out the window, sorrowful and yet determined to hide my discontent: never away from the gaze of the man, he was two seats away and within sight … Read more
© Denis Adide 2009