In the middle of the beach there was a hut. Wood sticks held a palm sheet structure covered with old plastic canvases.
In front of the hut, sitting in front of the sea of the sea, there was a girl. He sang a song and played with the sand. He grabbed stabs between his hands and threw them into the air, creating small fleeting clouds in front of the descending trajectory of the sun.
The girl was there because she had gone to receive her father and her older brothers, all of them fishermen and residents in the hut that was barely standing.
They called me with gestures and, when I approached, they received me with smiles. They invited me to enter his house. The interior was dark. A black plastic placed directly on the sand served as a floor. The sea breeze sneaked everywhere.
I hadn't become accustomed to the gloom of gloom when I realized that, in front of me, there was a bowl with rice.
I refused to accept it, very aware of the environment of extreme poverty that impregnated everything. However, in the end, I could not refuse to accept your invitation. I was clear that, if he did, the joy of his hospitality would give way to great sadness.
I ate the rice. I shared your joy. They told me that, despite everything, they were happy and that sometimes, when fishing was very good, his life was something better.
I thanked you for your love and praised your hospitality. I wished them good luck in everything.
Before leaving the place, I sat in front of the sea next to the girl. I asked him to sing his beautiful song once again.
While she sang, I was taken from white sand and, as if they were messenger butterflies of a universal happiness, one after another, I threw them into the air.
Pepe Navarro, Bangladesh
