The African morning is something to behold. Quite a potent and beautiful thing, but not something to always be taken easily if one is a light sleeper or in need of a deep and long sleep. The birdsong is simply describable in no other way than to say it is a cacophony of sound. Birds of all varieties seem to be in competition for which will make the greatest noise. As a backdrop to this are those birds nesting… hundreds of nests side by side, in a tree branching over one’s place of rest, coming to life vibrantly at 4am. Monkeys move along beneath the umbrella of branches and hoot their morning moans of despair and delight. Beyond the wall of trees is the Indian Ocean, crashing down its waves upon the early morning night-swept beach. A sad sounding truck passes by on the nearby road carrying its cargo to the next warehouse. In it all is an immense beauty, it is not the fog-drowned smog of London, nor the rampant roar of a tourist infested New York City. It is the balance of rain and sun under which all wild things blossom and bloom, the density all-consuming. Recovering from a fall in the mud, a twisted foot, I adorn my flip flops and set afoot towards the beach.
