Pavol

We sat in his kitchen sipping freshly brewed camomile tea and listening to African folk music. In the cramped space as the light filtered in through a small kitchen window Pavol spoke briefly of his past. His father was from Ghana his mum Slovak. He told of the seven years he spent as a dancer aboard luxury cruisers from Vienna to Budapest.

Leaving Vienna in the early evening, wealthy tourists all aboard Pavol and his partner would put on an exhibition of dance styles ranging from tango to jazz for the guests. Soft spoken with a warmth in his eyes he showed me souvenir cards from those times, photographs of a younger more athletic Pavol well dressed in a choreographed pose.

Maybe it was his minimally voiced fondness for those times or just that genuine reflexive ache for ones youth gone, but inspite of lively music and warm tea a feeling of melancholy filled the room.