Kleurenwereld

When the streets are crowded, full of people, chatting, queueing, crossing junctions, selling phonelines, buying tomatoes, walking the walk of life.

When the streets are empty, at the ending of the day, dark rumbling clouds have send the cities inhabitants to hide under trees and roofs of iron and plastic.

When the streets lead to the horizon, a fraying, winding line of tarmac, through a landscape of green bushes fading into a bright blue sky.

When the streets exist of red and ochre earth, its dust coloring the walls of the tiny township houses and blowing the children’s laughter through the many alleys.

When the streets are filled with rainy season potholes, making all traffic users drive as if it is a game of avoiding, and cheering when they’ve managed.

When the streets are being inhabited, by cars speeding faster than sounds, by buses filled with mothers and children and brothers, mattresses and fridges on their roofs, by pedestrians and cows, strolling their ways home.

When the streets are narrow and hot and sandy paths, wrapped by trees and golden grasses, so many different directions, a maze to outsiders but even trackable in dimmed moonlight by residents.

When the streets take you to places unknown, around corners to experiences unseen, introduce you to people you’ve never met, to lives you never knew, and thus make the sun inside of you shine all its light.