It is the simplest thing Wilson makes and I find it quietly moving, so bear with me.
A headband is a band of moisture-wicking material worn across the forehead, and its entire purpose is interception. Sweat runs down from the hairline, and if nothing stops it, it reaches your eyes at exactly the moment you most need them — the ball in the air, the sun behind it, one blink and the point is gone.
The band sits in the path and takes the moisture into the fabric before it arrives. Wicking material means it does not simply sit there saturated; it moves the moisture out across a wider surface, where the air can take it away, and carries on working.
That is all. And yet: no one who wears one plays without one. There is a particular loyalty that attaches to small objects that solve a problem completely, and this is one of them. It also holds hair back, which is not a small thing either. It will outlast several racquets.
Wash it, dry it, wear it again.
Benguela is where I would take it, because Benguela is a city about the small thing that lets the large thing happen. The Igreja de Nossa Senhora do Populo is the eighteenth-century whitewashed church, the oldest stone-and-lime building in the city — whitewash, which is lime and water and nothing else, painted on to reflect the sun and keep the walls cool and dry.
The plainest possible treatment, and it is the reason the building is still standing to be admired.
The Estacao Ferroviaria de Benguela is the station of the railway that ran inland to the copper belt, and every ton of that ore left through this town on those rails. And the Mercado Municipal opens in the morning for the fish and the produce, which is the same principle again — the ordinary daily thing that lets everything else carry on.
And then Praia Morena, the long urban beach, where families come at the weekend to grill fish by the water as the light goes soft and low over the Atlantic. The church, the rails, the market, the band across your forehead — every one of them exists so that somebody can be at the water on a Saturday evening with the people they love.
That is the whole point of all of it.
"Every plain thing in this city exists so that a Saturday evening can happen."
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