Inspired by Afrika Burn 2012.

(Yes, it’s been a while since I’ve been here… So this one might take longer than five.)Image

It was a great day. It was a Dane day. In fact, there were two. One telephone pole tall one equipped with a can of dry ice to, at any given notice, whip up a batch of orange-honey-brandy ice cream in the desert. Even if it were Day Four. The other, amorous, with an eye for titties, composition and rolling stones. The Danes were minding their business and being their usual Dane way, when something came slinking from behind their beduin-tented desert abode.

 

That something was a she, they could soon clearly see, because nothing but a few well-stuck strips of silver duck tape covered her teats. She was adorned in a roll of see-through white fabric, an organza of sorts, that she had tied to her lily white shoulders in a big flowy bow to flow behind her desert-dirty locks. Her bottom, this was covered, not to fear, in a zebra-strip and neon-pink pair of knickers, featuring flailing neon-pink tassels meant for curtain railings. Or nipples. Her head, now this is where it got interesting, had a queer salmon-shade flowery thing on top of it, which could have been a living sea-land aenaenamie. No one could tell.

 

“Cheesuhs!” the one Dane said to the other. And the other agreed. For they had never seen such a thing in all their days in their non-desert home across the see. The desert nymph just smiled at the two. She smiled politely, as one should. And then she bid them farewell and buggered off. But in a ladylike, gentile sort of way, of course. Ahead was adventure and mischief and play. The desert nymph didn’t once look back. She just went on her merry way.

 

The land was bare and full of very big things and small. All kinds of creatures were crawling it – some upright, some crooked, some furry, one-legged and some six foot five tall. Were they adults? Or children? Were they rich or poor? Were they anything that mattered? Not at all. They were multiples of the same – a bowl of jellies that had been tipped. Same yummy, gooey insides. Just different shapes, sizes, colours and clans.

 

The desert nymph looked far and she looked long. Wherever she looked there was pleasure being had. Caution came floating by in the breeze beside her and she waved it goodbye. A man stood smiling with a sign of reassurance: Relax, nothing is under control. In the distance she saw three amigos emerge from their camper van. They hid their key on the roof and head off into the dust to find fascinating bush and contemplate life, love and whether or not to remove a piece of single-ply from a human turd. She spotted two Nemo fishies with fluffy bear paws. They were swimming with a smiling gold fish and they all seemed very pleased. She saw a cowshark madman abduct a fair, long-locked maiden licking a technicoloured lollipop. There was a love-filled chaise lounge too, transported from one lovely spot to another by a psychedelic whale-fish and its equally psychedelic wrangler.

 

As if they already knew one another (because in some ways we all do), two travellers joined the lone desert nymph – a blonde Justin Bieber and a Red Indian maiden-man on a pinwheel-modified bike. They headed for a wooden flame-cathedral. But at this sacrificial monument there was no religion – only solace, remembrance and light. The trio made their peace and bid the beauty adieu. Far they didn’t need to go before beauty said howdy do da again. A bench worth its weight in gold sat watching the horizon, solid and sure.

 

The three found a fourth and she was a vision. Her name was Kitty. Her red lips and red-rimmed sun protectors were framed with her Audrey Hepburn style in Omo-white and Skip-bright-blue. The four showed their bosoms to the sun and did salutations and Warriors 2, 3 and 4.

 

The desert nymph felt the adventure bug bite her in the butt and she grabbed the Red Indian maiden-man’s pinwheel-modified bike and headed to the north. Or at least what wasn’t south. She came across a mob of drumming masterminds led by one whistle-bearing piper. The rhythm and the sound was so very much that the desert nymph’s body couldn’t help but convulse this way and that and before she knew it she was under its spell. A big, base drum lady charmed the desert nymph with her low low thud, drawing those neon-pink tassels towards her. Together they made music of hips and snares. Together they shook and they shaked.

 

The circle grew bigger, the shapes came from all across the desert. There were elfin girl-kissing girls, convulsing Austrians and eagle-headed men. In one fowl swoop the whistle-bearing piper brought the mob to the ground, hushing them sweetly. But the desert nymph couldn’t contain her vim. She tried to obey. She sprang up like a cricket in 1st grade. It was the fault of those familiar faces on the other side! A very English tea party marauding in their finest tops and penguin tails and vintage gowns.

 

The travelling tea party met the desert nymph with whoops and tea cups – ginormous and minute. Then the words: “180 degrees now!” and the desert nymph swung round her nubile body to find a bee-in-a-beehive carrying bear. Oh, the joy they had! Honey was had and swinging was swung, for the piper and his drummers had yet again begun.

 

The happiness was met with the sunset and as the light turned dusty pink and unbearably beautiful, the desert nymph found herself a lone trotter once more. That was until a little man, in his best carnivalesque attire and top hat came along. His eyes were already filled with tears, for the beauty, for him, was also too much to bear. “Can I play you my set?” “Of course,” the desert nymph replied. So the little man held a tin can to her ear and gently with his little man hand turned the little handle that turned the tin can into the most delicate of ballerina-in-a-box music boxes. The desert nymph was stunned. She was silenced. The surprise and the delight was too great. And off the little man wandered away.

 

The desert nymph sighed and contemplated the now dark plane before her. The desert had turned into an electro-trippy playground. She watched a snaking pendulum that chased its own tail and mesmerised all who watched. Two giant bunnies were fighting for their lives. And fight until they set alight they did, spinning fiery in mid-air. A fearsome Tyrannosaurus Rex marched over to the earth and got it by its short and burning curlies.

 

As if there were a collective of crazies chanting her name and summoning her to meet them, the desert nymph made a b-line to a tented, dancing floor. It was a fortuitous b-line indeed, for the desert nymph was met with wails and embraces and love she hardly ever seen before. The most loving and bouncy of all was one little Greek lass who loved and bounced all night along.

 

From across the dance floor, the desert nymph did see, a fairytale-fair maiden with her white fairy-light-lit hood and her fairy-light-lit white skirt. The desert nymph couldn’t resist. She left her circle of love and went and stood right before her. There wasn’t much to be said, only three little words. She took a slow breath and slowly found her words: “You are… beautiful.” The fairy-light maiden was silent. She was serene. She was still. And for a moment, the whole world was still with her. Her willowy hands reached for the desert nymph’s face. She held her and leaned forward so very gently and silently, enveloping the desert nymph with her white fairy-light-lit hood and its intoxicating glow. She kissed her on this cheek and then on that. And for a time, the world beyond her white glowy dome vanished.

 

When the desert nymph emerged, she had no words. The beauty and the purity and the connectedness between them was so immense. The fairy-light-hooded maiden had passed on her silence and silenced the desert nymph too.

 

It was all just a moment. Just a blip in the radar. It was so little. It was so much more. It was one very very day.

 

The End.

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