Green, yellow and black and blue

I was standing near the door of the train. The rain was gushing in; a man had just opened the door to let the rain in, to let his hair fly with the wind. A beggar crawled up next to me, the fingers on his feet looked like the scales of a crocodile trying to reach for his ankle; he asked me for some alms. I smiled and shook my head. He looked at the floor of the train and picked up a bracelet. It was the Tanzanian bracelet I had been wearing for the last 6 months. He was feeling the beads on the bracelet and was turning it back and forth as though he was examining a strange sort of creature. My smile grew wider. He put the bracelet in his shirt pocket, looked up to me and once again begged for some money. Once again, I shook my head. And then, he again took out the bracelet from his pocket and started examining it.
Love in detachment? It was time to let go of the bracelet. The only symbol of Tanzania I carried with me all the time for the past few months.