"And the Lord God took the man and put him into the garden…. To dress it and keep it".

Hi guys

This is a scene I wrote for my children's writing course, so that she would know if I had the knack for description.  Does it make you feel as you were there, smelling the salt of the ocean and seeing the sights I describe?  If so, the job was done right.  It was not meant to be an entire story but just a scene...enjoy.

 

 THE BEACHFRONT

           

My heart fluttered like a butterfly’s wings as I looked at the sea sand.  It was the color of a skeleton that has been bleached white in the sun with age.  It made a perfect frame for the dancing, white-capped waters of Durban, Kwazulunatal’s dazzling ocean.  Salt from the spray tickled my nostrils and tingled my tongue.

Half-clad little boys waited to greet us as we stepped out of the car.  “Wash your windows for five cents, boss…very clean, very clean,” they begged my dad.

  Just beyond the parking lot was the street bordering the beachfront, called the Strand.  It was a buzzing beehive of activity. I heard a cacophony of sounds as the locals peddled their wares.

              My eyes also lit up to see all the intriguing sights.  Women were adorned in

 

geometrically designed dresses and head cloths of every hue. Some of 

them greeted us with wide smiles from “shops” set up along the sidewalks.  There were many treasures to choose from! I ran my fingers across the cool, sleek stone of African heads. The sun glinted off of sharp knives, fashioned from metal and ivory. There were also carved animals and various handcrafted wooden items.  Zebra, antelope, and kudu pelts felt like the soft stubble of my Alsatian dog, Princess’s, fur. My sister and I even modeled some intricately woven beadwork jewelry for Mom to admire!

Stalls were bordered with rotund little hippos, polished until their ebony, gray and mahogany backs gleamed.  I breathed in the crisp, woodsy smell of skillfully woven grass baskets that had caught my eye.  Additionally, there were dainty hand-crocheted doilies and tablecloths on display.  All the while, women’s fingers seemed to fly from one stitch to another as they used every available minute to increase their stock. I looked away and my mouth watered at the sight of fresh Mangoes, papayas, pineapples, and bananas.

As I wandered further down the Strand, what had sounded like the haunting rhythm of beating drums became more distinct.  Now I could hear tinny guitar, tambourine, as well as the drums.  The instruments were accompanying the melodic voices of a male quartet.  The men were singing and dancing, attracting a crowd who threw coins into a hat conveniently upturned in front of the performance.  The men were traditionally dressed with pieces of animal fur around their necks, wrists and ankles. These were intertwined with pieces of bone or colorful, sparkling glass.  Besides elaborate headdresses made of feathers and fur, animal-skin loincloths completed their outfits. I tapped my feet and clapped my hands along with the music.

 

After the entertainment, I decided to engage in my favorite activity at the beach, which was going for a ride in a rickshaw. These resembled pony carts, with seats between huge bicycle-like wheels, each able to carry two people.  The unique thing about these was that men served as the horses!  My sister and I were handed up into the “carriage” and waited in anticipation for our driver to take the two handles in his arms. We squealed with delight as he ran along the expansive stretch of beach, causing us to bob up and down like those billowy waves on the ocean in the background.  We joined Mom and Dad who had taken their own rickshaw; then we strolled back to the car—away from my favorite place—and back to the world of reality.