the barely-cool breeze ripple across the brown thatch, faded pink tin, and moorish-coral stone rooftops. touts shouts from the pier carry past my ears, the swahili tongue rhythmic and foreign.
donkeys laze past in the dusty streets, noses keen for scraps from discarded bins; mysterious black burka clad women reveal only their eyes as they glide past on the narrow paths; a black hawk with sharp white beak swoops down, its midnight black body silhouetted against the calm deep blue waters of the indian ocean, and then, is gone, like everything.
