Welcome to the Wild Coast

When I arrived it was dark, wet, dump, gloomy, hazy, rainy and all sorts of windy and cold. You could not see further than the length of your arm. The storm was coming. Electricity would go off for two days. Random flying objects hitting the windows, out of tune songs of the wind and the battle cries of the ocean were, to put it mildly, a touch scary. Even candle would go off in my room since, for some strange reason, it was also windy inside. Travelers would cancel their arrivals, cool surfer angels would run away in search for a sunny heaven. It seemed like nobody will be here for the day of doom. No one but the lost, turbulent and tortured Heathcliff maybe. Welcome to the Wild Coast.

I loved it. The stormier it got, the more quiet and peaceful it was inside. The more turbulent was the outside, the smoother was the ambience of the inner circles. Talking seemed unnecessary. Pointless really. The guardian dogs of the household would not even bother to bark at the reality. One of them, the grandpa, would only bark to his dreams. Wise dog, I’d say. 

You’d hear Mamas talking Xhosa. This tonal oddity of clicks and cosmic sounds would only make the entourage more surreal.  What Transkei stands for is dreadfully surreal, too – a land beyond river Kei created out of mad, shameful social experiment to set aside members of the same ethnicity. The land and the name estranged from its people. 

Five days after the sun came out. It was as real as it could be. The foamy and powerful ocean waves, the wind so strong that it would take your balance and breath away. The green hills with swishing, crackling grass and colourful rondavel houses. Why round? Because ghosts like to live in the corners. You need to be seeing things clearly here. 

The Cool Banana store would re-open. Church would re-open.  The local tavern would get busy again.  I don't believe that one ever closes, actually. The angelic surfer kids would return.  All goes back to normal, I guess.