Sunday, October 21, 2012
Staring out of the window at the rain that began 48-hours ago, they are mostly, and understandably, sunless: the rain's pattering down hard on the verdant, broad-leaved sub-tropical vegetation. The scene and sounds could, easily, be out of any of countless movies I've never seen.
A scraping then spraying of a battered black pan in the kitchen; subdued rain-sodden thoughts while I wait for my chicken-chili omelette; the rattle of long blunt-but-powerful Doberman claws ticking across terra cotta-cool tiles; a boy-and-girl being loud Sunday afternoon neighbour's kids other side the fence; then the crescendo of a silent but cloying fart, same Doberman, that causes me to wrinkle my nose in disgust.
Random photos and memories from last week; we went to Durban's Grey Street market finding disappointment; then - by accident - mysterious undercurrents in the much less formal, but intriguing muti market that's woven itself like a spider's web around Durban's train station. I'd describe it as a symbiotic relationship in a truly African sense; but I didn't feel at ease, nor completely welcome, rather like a spy from the other-side. And conspicuously white.