News
The Springtide festival came to Camp’s Bay beach this weekend with an ‘explosion’ of young people enjoying the beach, promotions and live music on offer.
Camp’s Bay United church played host to bands such as Tree63 and the Dirty Skirts as well as organising sports events for what turned out to be one of the biggest youth events on the Cape Town calendar this year.
An environmental awareness group called 350 also got involved and got three hundred and fifty teenagers to spell out the number, which was viewed and photographed by a helicopter in aid of their cause.
Narrative
There was once a girl standing in the middle of an open field. She was lonely. Oh how she wished she could have a friend. Or even friends. Ones who liked the same things she did. Things like cold watermelon on a hot summer’s day and laughing at silly things until your tummy hurts. She thought to herself: “What if I closed my eyes and wished really hard for these kindred spirits?” So she did just that. When she opened her eyes, there, in front of her stood a boy. She asked him if he liked he liked cold watermelon on a hot summer’s day and laughing until his tummy hurts. He said yes, yes he does. As well as freshly squeezed orange juice (with the juicy bits) on a Saturday morning, the smell of the streets right after a thunderstorm, the ecstatic laughter of joyous little toddlers and the raw sound of a distorted dirty guitar.
“Oh”, she said. You know that if you close your eyes tightly and wish really hard, one of those might appear when you open them again. It happened to me. So the boy tried it. But nothing happened. The girl said “no, you have to really scrunch your eyes so that you can see the crow’s feet trying desperately to escape. And it helps if you clench your fists too.” The boy tried again, this time carefully following the girl’s instruction. When he opened his eyes he was surrounded by lots of happy people who reminded him of the girl. They were eating watermelon and joyously laughing. Some were laughing so hard that they were holding their tummies whilst rolling around on the ground. Also, something he hadn’t noticed until now was a small red and black stage. It was around about then that a dark haired roguish looking fellow walked on with an old, yet solid looking guitar. He plugged it into the amplifier labelled Jack White’s and cranked the volume. In no time there were all sorts of wonderful things like distortion and feedback filling the airwaves. There was melody and thought too. It was dirty, and it was good. The boy looked at the girl and smiled. She smiled back – the perfect accessory to her pigtails and blue dress. He took her by the hand, threw his straw hat high in the sky and they both jumped up and down.
The girl was lonely no more.
Creative
Hands.
In the air.
Motion. Blurry.
An explosion.
Of what? Kids?
No, exuberance.
Joy. Elation. An explosion of expression.
Smiling faces. Lots of colour.
Just another day in the life of a teenager or a once in a life time experience?
You decide.
