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My favorite object started its life on a roll of silver, so fine that it was difficult to imagine that the hands of a skilled man could, and in fact did, work that wire into what is now this treasured object.

On the floor, there were chicken droppings, and dry earth. The stool was made from a log which had been chip carved with little birds, lovingly used for over forty years.

The man sat on the stool and grinned the kind of grin that says "hello" from the bottom of his heart, an innocent kind of greeting that required no answer, just a warm smile, and a passing moment spent sharing with this man his craft, his ideas, his engineering.

He asked what it was that I wanted. I did not know. The hut let in the afternoon sun as there were only two sides to it. The atmosphere was hot although where he sat, he had the only shade from the day.

He asked what dreams I had, and I said that I dreamed of happiness. I was on honeymoon, and that immediately sparked up enthusiasm, like that of a child.

He took the wire into his hands, and worked with a blow pipe that cooled the heat from a little torch of flame, and little by little, the wire took shape and form, although I could not see what he was making. His old worn out fingers had the vitality of an expert, as I watched in amazement the creation of what would become my favorite thing.

The chickens took little notice. The local cockerel crowed, and the man worked on, giving every bit of his attention to his creation, worked with no pattern.

I watched and admired the beautiful work that he was creating. Then he showed me the burnt silver creation which still looked unfinished and tarnished, and took from a large bucket a brush, poured Omo wash powder on the creation and scrubbed it with the brush, carefully hiding the end result from me, as he wanted it to be a surprise.

He asked me to hold out my hand, and I did, and into it he placed my object, closed my hand, so that I did not see it straight away, and when I did, my heart was light and my mood happy. He had created the most exquisite heart in silver, so delicately woven in swirls and finished with a little circle so that I could fix it on a chain that I still wear to this day.

I have never taken it off and it remains a memory of a creation that was born in front of my eyes. It was magnificence at its best. When I asked how much I owed him, he answered "there is no price for friendship", and in that moment, I knew that he was right.

Learn more about this author, Rachelle de Bretagne.
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