But I Do Know Mandinka

Once upon a time I took a trip to London, England when I was about 18 or 19. I was in my freshman year at a certain state university, and the trip was part of an honors program experience. (Yes, I was in the honors program and still managed to basically flunk out by the end of the year. Great story there, I’ll be sure to tell you sometime.)

Anyway, I was walking outside on my own (I never stay with the group when a chaperone says, “Stay with the group,” and this walk was no exception). I was smoking a cigarette of some kind, I don’t remember the brand but it could’ve easily been a pastel colored Nat Sherman with a gold filter around that time.

It wasn’t sunny out, but it wasn’t raining.

I was listening to The Lion and the Cobra, Sinéad O’Connor’s first album, on my headphones. (These were the days of the Walkman and the portable cd player, so I’m sure I had one or the other in my backpack or on my belt or something, pumping the music into my ears through the temporarily untangled black wires.)

Mandinka was the song that was playing and I could see that a couple was walking towards me on the same side of the street. They got closer and asked me to stop for a moment. The man asked for a cigarette.

I obliged and he could hear the music while I was getting the cigarette for him.

“Oh, classic track, Mate! Cheers!” He said while I handed him the cigarette.

And it was the closest I think I’ve ever come to being cool in my whole life.