Copyright: Bas van Wersch
Published by Uitgeverij Macc 2012
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Bas van Wersch
It was late in the afternoon and the sky was getting black with clouds holding a promise – or was it more a threat? – of rain. Much rain. Low on the horizon there were silent flashes of lightning, exposing the patterns of the heavy clouds for a split second, then losing them again in darkness. This was almost a daily event now that the monsoon was approaching fast. Soon the clouds would open up and dump their heavy load on the sweltering city, bringing some temporary relief after a long hot tropical day.
The air was motionless, moist and oppressive and the smell of diesel oil and rotting fish mixed with the tempting aromas coming from the dozens of little food stalls on the quay. The sound of winches and tackles had died away.