I'm Different From Other Girls

We went as far as the car would take us.

We are in the densest of jungles, no other humans around.

There is no alternative route, the only way through now, is by foot.

This is by no means the first adventure, my mother and myself had encountered. Since my birth, sixteen years ago, we have never settled anywhere for longer than three months.

My mother's knowledge of the jungle is impressive, but then most of whatever she decides for us to do, is the same. Most of her skills, she'd learned from my Grandfather, God bless his soul, and the life she'd lived with him is now being passed down to me. I've never known my father.

I follow her at a pace, her long, muscular legs drawing my eyes.

It is a misty and overcast morning, and despite our waterproofs and strong hiking boots, it's not long, before I feel slightly soggy.

The clouds thicken and gather and drops of rain begin to fall on us.

I concentrate, I follow, rest will come just hours away.

My mother notices every nuance of the jungle, and I have learned to do the same.

I'm different from other girls, I've seen plenty of them, all over the world, but I've never met one that's travelled the way we have. Sure, I've met a few who have been travelling for two or three years, but they all settle somewhere eventually, just not us. My mother strides on.

She asks for nothing else from me except a determination to keep up with her.

If this displeases me in any way, then she says it is only because I have a limited understanding of what is good for me.

I spot them first, but it's only a split second before mother sees them, three tribesmen standing before us, staring at us, motionless, glaring with evil eyes at us intruders who have so suddenly appeared in their land.

I feel the need for air in my throat, and I clear my throat hoarsely.

Heaviness settles into the pit of my stomach; even though I know my mother will find a way of making their wildly divergent understandings of who we are and what we want, fade away.

They look at my mother and then at myself, a penetrating stare, which goes right through me. As I've been taught, I stand motionless, and try not to draw attention to myself.

One of them snarls, a deep guttural, inhuman sound.

He appears agitated, but I don't think he means to harm us.

I watch as my mother lowers her head as an act of respect, offers her hand to the one that has snarled, and says, "I'm not your enemy."

She gestures to me, and I move towards her as she gently tucks me into the crook of her arm. I lower my head in respect to the tribesmen.

Their eyes and hair are wild, but their response is mild-mannered. My mother has taught me that more often than not, most tribe's people, especially those who have never encountered a white person, are highly superstitious, of harming another human unless they are a known enemy, for fear of retribution by whatever gods or spiritual beliefs their particular tribe holds.

My mothers actions seem to be effective again, we appear to be at peace with one another, as they lead us even further into the jungle.

Mosquitoes and biting gnats nibble at my face, reminding me how grateful I am that the rest of my body is covered by my waterproofs. The men leading us are not afforded such a luxury, but seem unperturbed, as if they don't even exist.

After wandering for many hours, we finally enter a clearing.

This was the moment, which always took the most courage, to keep my feelings and emotions at bay, whilst the rest of the tribe and the chief overlook us and decide whether we are to be welcomed.

We are presented to the chief at the opening of his hut.

By now, I am exhausted but my mother has taught me never to show weakness, not even when you feel as though you are unable to take one more step, or even when it is a sheer effort to hold up your own head.

A young girl, about my age, possibly a little younger stands to the chief's side. I am uncertain as to whether she is his daughter, or his wife.

The chief looks us over; we bend our heads to show respect. He reaches for a horn and blows into it. I dare to look up, have we been accepted? It appears we have, as tribes people circle around us. At first, staring at us with looks of disbelief, and then dancing and chanting begins. It is clearly a ceremony of initiation, establishing an alliance between us, offering us a bond of kinship.

One of the tribesmen takes me by the hand and leads me into a circle, made-up of others. He gyrates in front of me, and dances around me. Although a little fearful, I smile in response.

A beautiful lady with thick, dark hair down to her waist enters the circle and stands beside me. With such little clothing, her advanced pregnancy is blatant. She holds my hand and moves it to her bare stomach. I feel the unborn child kick. Tears fill my eyes at such total acceptance.

The feral look on her face is at one with my own, after all I am feral, I've been raised feral.

I follow her to her own hut, and I sit with her.

Human emotion is complex, but with her and the tribe I now feel at peace.

I help her to wash out her pots and pans.

Her soft forehead is moist with sweat.

A red dragonfly zooms around my head, and I watch as it settles on a leaf.

A young tribesman approaches and sits by my side. An older man stands behind him; I assume it's their father.

I smile at the boy; he looks about the same age as me.

He smiles back. I pause, an unfamiliar sensation makes my blood quicken and electricity bolts through me, making my skin tingle.

He scoops up a handful of dirt and places it in front of me.

The action intensifies my spirit.

My eyes move to the angry clouds above.

I look back at him, he's very handsome, he's probably a head and shoulders taller than me, and twice as broad. The expression on my face is reflected on his.

How can this be happening? How can I be falling in love with this boy, who I've only just met?

I sigh, my attention still on him, unable to move my focus.

A rip of thunder causes me to startle.

My questions of common sense are rendered ineffective.

I'm confused, as everything seems to be happening so fast, I've never responded to a boy this way before.

His hand moves to mine, and as we touch I am fully part of him, my soul is complete.

I look around for my mother, but she has gone inside the hut with the chief. Would she object? Would the chief object?

Although we don't speak the same language, something I've experienced many times before, our eyes and body language are communicating.

A man younger than the father, but older than the boy enters and sits down next to the pregnant lady. I soon establish it's the boy's older brother, the husband of the pregnant lady.

I'm at home here, at one with nature, I've never liked the towns or cities we've visited.

I don't feel as though this is my first time here, I feel as though this is where I belong.

I gaze at the boy again, and my heart flutters.

The pregnant woman serves dinner, encouraged by the boy, I dive in, I'm starving.

After we've eaten, I help to clear and wash the pans. The boy takes my hand and leads me to his place of sleep. We sit down and he touches my soft face. I'm not sure what to do or think about, but I'm enamoured of this boy, whose name I have now established is Ibrahima. It's almost as if I'm living in some type of fairy-tale.

I don't know why but I always thought I'd fall in love with a white man, but here I am in the middle of the jungle with a tribesman, and I already know for sure that I'm in love.

I don't understand what he says to me, but his voice, soothes and calms me.

Mosquitoes buzz around us, but they no longer voter me the way they had before.

I'd removed my waterproofs earlier and now I remove my jeans and my man's dress shirt, and I reveal myself in my underwear.

I glance at him to see him watching me. Ibrahima gestures to me with his hand.

I lean into him, at peace yet hyped up on adrenaline and desire.

Innocence leaves me, "Oh God," I cry softly.

His expertise, surprises me.

It is an amazing night; I have never been made to feel so beautiful.

The dawn light enters the hut, and he slings one of his long legs over me.

My mother enters the hut, expressing her dissatisfaction with what she sees before her. It is now an unpleasant situation.

A young woman of the tribe stands beside her.

"He has been unfaithful to this young lady, he is promised to her. What have you done, you stupid girl," my mother shouts.

My eyes dash to the young woman, then to Ibrahima, then back to my mother. I feel betrayed.

"Why didn't you check up on me last night and protect me?" I shout back at my mother.

Her eyes fill with terror, "Because I thought you knew better. I trusted you. You're no longer a baby, you're sixteen."

My fairy-tale was quickly turning into a grim realistic story.

"Thanks for the information," I snap at her.

I look at Ibrahima, his face is gloomy and his lips compressed.

My face colours, at the memory of the lovemaking, which had lasted for hours.

A silence fell over the hut.

I watch as the young woman slips a ring from her finger and hands it to me.

"Well, there you go," my mother says. "He doesn't need two wives does he?"

I want to leave the hut, but something stops me from doing so.

Whilst my state of undress is hardly more modest than the young woman's, I grab my underwear, jeans and shirt and rapidly get dressed.

As I do so, I glare into Ibrahima's almond shaped eyes, the brown of his irises so dark that they are almost black. "Somebody screwed up, I guess," I say to him.

The sound of steps approach the hut, and the chief enters.

Immediately, he dismisses the young woman.

He takes the ring from my hand, and offers it to Ibrahima. Words are exchanged between them and then the chief indicates to me to come over. Ibrahima looks into my eyes with such love, my heart pounds, and he places the ring on my finger.

My mother speaks, "That's it, you're promised to him now. Do you realise what you've done?"

I didn't know who to be most annoyed with, my mother or Ibrahima, but one thing I knew for sure was the fact I was promised to him gave me a warm glow, deep within my heart.

I gasped, and then realised the sound had come from my own throat.

"I'm not leaving with you this time, when you move on," I heard myself say.

By the end of the following day, after many discussions and the fact she had witnessed Ibrahima and the way he was with me, my mother had adapted and was more at ease with the idea of me staying with him, when she decided to move on.

Her conception of life, never to settle in one place, was now hers and no longer mine. Every day Ibrahima showed me more marvellous and exceptional qualities. I was well and truly in love.