Beginning of The Dark Child by Camara Laye
I was a little boy playing around my father’s hut. How old would I have been at that time? I can not remember exactly. I must have been very young: five, maybe six years old. My mother was in the workshop with my father, and I could just hear their familiar voices above the noise of the anvil and the conversation of the customers.
Suddenly I stopped playing, my whole attention fixed on a snake that was creeping around the hut. After a moment I went over to him. I had taken in my hand a reed that was lying in the yard – there were always some lying around; they used to get broken off the fence of plaited reeds that marked the boundary of our concession – and I thrust it into his mouth. The snake did not try to get away: he was beginning to enjoy our little game; he was swallowing the reed; he was devouring it, his eyes glittering with voluptuous bliss; and inch by inch his head was drawing nearer to my hand.