Sweet Swell

Chapter 4

One of Kwazulu Natal’s customary thunderstorms had settled over Ballito Bay, and rain was pouring from the heavens as if the Angels were weeping. Us locals rejoiced. A little bit of rain was like a breath of fresh air after the blazing sun and heavy, humid summer air. I love the sound of thunder. The rumbling noise rolling off the Drakensberg mountains makes my mind travel into a fantasy world where giants throw and stack heavy boulders in the hangs of the mountains, causing the low growl that reverberates off the high ridges.

For some, thunderstorms may be unsettling, but personally, I find them fascinating and almost therapeutic. The sound of the low rumble off the mountains combined with the lull of raindrops pouring onto the roof and against the windows is like music to my ears. Seeing lightning flash is simply exhilarating, as if the sky’s been slashed open by an angry God. The deep shades of purple left in the sky after a strike is my favourite colour.

Not only are actual thunderstorms some of my favourite things about South African summers, but the aftermath is simply breathtaking. Plants are almost luminous with green life in the first rays of sunshine after the replenishment they’ve received. Flowers are brighter and stand taller than before. The soil of our land is washed clean and cooled down by the wonderful rain, as if a new world has been born.

After a storm has ended and the weather’s been very hot, you can see steam rising from the sunbaked roads as if smoke is blowing across the land in a soft swirl. Thunderstorms replenish, and I feel reborn after each and every one, just as nature is reborn after the rain has left its imprint.

My absolute favourite part of thunderstorms is the fresh, clean smell they leave behind. It’s as if mother nature has sprayed sweet perfume all about her, breathing new life into her beautiful, precious world.

I woke up to the sound of the low rumble of thunder early one Tuesday morning. The rain had ceased, but the sky was still heavy with dark clouds. More rain was to come, and as I checked the weather forecast I realised that the clouds would be here to stay for another week at the least. I didn’t mind at all, of course. It was the aftermath of the storm I was so eagerly awaiting along with the rest of Natal’s citizens.

As I threw open my large bedroom windows, a fresh ocean breeze greeted me along with that delicious smell of rain and fresh earth. If life had a scent, this would be it. I took a step out onto my balcony overlooking Ballito’s beautiful coastline and a bit of the boardwalk, and took in my surroundings. The sea looked unsettled. The wind wasn’t strong, but the water was a dark grey in the weak early morning light. The waves were a mere chop - horrible surfing conditions. A few fishermen were standing out by the rocks, hoping to catch something. Nobody else was to be seen for kilometres. 

I went back into my room, closing the sliding glass doors to my balcony, and changed into shorts and a tank top. I pulled on a warm grey sweater with the word “Billabong” emblazoned upon it in bright turquoise. I decided on vans sneakers for today. If it was going to rain I didn’t want wet feet in the street, even if flip flops were my first choice on any day. I pulled my hairbrush through my wavy and horridly tangled brown hair. Blonde streaks were starting to appear at the ends of my hair as a result from a mixture of sunlight and chlorine. My skin was already golden-brown from all the sunlight I’d absorbed in the few days of summer I’d had. I looked at my face in the mirror, thinking how great it was not to worry about breakouts on my skin from nerves and exam stress now that I’d graduated high school. I barely needed any makeup during summers, how great was that! I applied some mascara and eyeliner anyway, along with some rose-colored eyeshadow and clear lipgloss for good measure. I winked at myself in the mirror, thinking this is as good as it’ll get, and trudged off downstairs.

After a quick breakfast of Special K, a chat with my dad and stepmom, and a trip to the ladies’ room, I was ready for a new day. I was going to meet the girls at our favourite coffee place overlooking a forrest close to the shore. I took my bike and drove the short two kilometres over to the cosy-looking green and white wooden cabin called The Waterberry. The roof was lined with seashells hanging off the eaves. Cute round wooden tables covered in cherry-red checkered tablecloths and chairs were scattered on the stoop of the place, and large, wood-lined windows gave it a Biggie Best kind of look. As I went through to the front of the café, I could see Lissa and Tamra already sitting on the front stoop by a table, staring off into the tropical overgrowth at a small baby Grysbok, chewing on some leaves. They only noticed my arrival when I pulled out my heavy wooden chair.