I felt the hum of a cicada travel up my spine and a squadron of dragonflies hover in my stomach.

The dorp felt like another planet; an accidental seed that never received enough water or sunlight to reach its full potential.

They talked at full volume. As if life was a vinyl that could only be truly appreciated when plugged into an amplifier and turned way up.

The fog was thick, but the further I walked, I glimpsed patches of sky and sea — indistinguishable from one another in many ways, like a shade of silver without the light, or the underbelly of a grey whale.

Light spilled out of Mohini’s room and drew me toward it like the sun beckons an African daisy.

My father once told me that the dynamics of the Agulhas current was called Retroflection; the movement of an ocean current that doubles back on itself.

Like ladies attending a Japanese tea ceremony, Ouma and I shared secrets between sips of steaming Rooibos.

I sat amongst the bones for a while and watched the ocean as it churned, thinking that Africa was the most wild and devastatingly beautiful place that I would ever have the privilege of knowing.

Just when you think that life is moving in one direction, it boomerangs.

I’m afraid that I will break, like a dam without floodgates, or an earthquake beneath a fault line.