There is a tree. A tree that blocks the sun when it comes over the hill, and spills into Lake Victoria. A mass of Golden water stretches into the East African horizon. A symbol of the city. A symbol of life. A small boy, curious with a heart full of wanderlust, climbs up the tree’s majestic branches, each stronger than the next, and allow for the child’s rest against its ancient trunk. The trees now rustle as the winds from the islands of the golden lake approach the safe haven that has for years stood firm in the boy’s heart.
There is boat. The young boy struggles to keep it aloft as the winds tear at the aging sail and steer the boat to its own will. The crackling of the ropes, a familiar sound, now engulfs his hearing as the small sail boat cuts across the great lake; the mast of the vessel acting as a stand post while the two brothers fight the growing wind. Echoes of laughter and joyful screams are absorbed by the mounting storm as the sail is taken once more by the forces that have shaken the ancient forests of the island they are now rounding. A mixture of playful imagination and the stark reality of the monsters that lie in the depths beneath, act as the lighthearted ignorance that has become part of the boy’s nature. A scream fills the air as the two brothers dangle from the boat’s side, and a wave of golden water engulfs them in a single stroke as what can only be described by the boy as an infinite melody of pure happiness as they turn the water blade that has acted as their safe haven towards home.
There is a road. The two boys follow the reddened track as a mounting cloud of African soil rises behind their footsteps. A fragile sculpture that shines as the sun’s rays pierce through it without difficulty. A floating mass that is soon at the mercy of the gentle breeze that stirs the sleeping forests at either side of them. The gentle rasping of sandals against loosened pebbles is soon disrupted by the voice of a retained evil that hides behind a rusting gate. The creature is unleashed and one of the boys fall under its madness. A horrifying scream echoes from the barren road, and the two boys run towards the house with the blue gate. Blood stains a mother’s dress as the boy runs into the safe haven that is her loving arms.
There is a boy. His mind has traveled to many places in his troubled sleep. The next day he will leave the safe haven that has kept him at ease for the greater part of his short life. His eyes look to the horizon where the winds have hauled a darkened cloud over the lake. The black waves crash against the primeval boulders at the shore. The sail boats have not dares to leave the sanctuary of the mainland. The winds envelope the child at every side, the downpour mixes with his own tears as the harsh reality of leaving the continent that has been carved into his young soul overwhelms him. A moment of silence ensues as a faint call from behind draws him. His family stands under the shelter of the house with the blue gate. They look at him with loving eyes; the infinite music of safety clogs his hearing as he takes a final glace at the lake. A faint ray of golden light has pierced the black sky and the lake below it is once again the inspiration he has looked to for years. He joins his family, the safe haven he has always had yet failed to notice. The golden days are not over. The golden days have only just begun.