The pawpaw

Jean Thornton

How strange are the ways of memory: decades after a happening it can spring vividly to mind. Whenever I see a pawpaw I am instantly transported to another time, another country, another pawpaw.

Travelling in Sudan on long-service leave from nursing, I had spent some time at the Red Sea Hotel, learning a little Arabic. I was about to leave when the hotel manager said I should visit the deserted city of Suakin, further along the coast.

It was necessary for me to hire a truck and a driver to take me to my destination. This proved a wearisome business but I persisted and eventually set off with a somewhat reluctant driver in his rackety old truck. I intended returning to Port Sudan the same day.

It was a bone-shattering journey, careering through the hot dry desert, but when the old white buildings of the island city shimmered into sight and we crossed the causeway, I thought it worth the discomfort.

Suakin was obviously deserted. Shutters…