Memories

I was sitting up in bed this morning looking out at the view across the Moray Firth when a sudden burst of sunshine illuminated this painting hanging on the wall of the bedroom. It shows another view, this one from the upstairs balcony of the last house we had in Mombasa where, each morning, just before six, Saidi would bring up a tray of tea and the family would gather on the upstairs veranda to enjoy a cup and watch the sun rise across the Indian Ocean.

On the east coast of Africa, this is the most peaceful and gentle time of the day. The air is still and cool. The birds have just woken and are singing the celebration of another dawn - look carefully and find a bright yellow weaver bird in the foreground, enjoying his morning bath. There is little traffic along the coast road that follows the palms along the side of and then across the golf course. It is so quiet that the pervading sound is the distant, throbbing roar of the ocean swell breaking on the Andromache reef on the far side of the deep blue channel that leads into Kilindini harbour.

There is so much in this painting to remember. The ivory-white flowers of the frangipani trees to the left of the painting: Saidi will shortly pick one of these delicate flowers and we'll find it floating in a bowl of water when we go down for breakfast. The dark shape of the buoy marking the point of the Andromache reef and, to its left, what looks like an elephant standing on the reef that fringes the coast, the remains of a ship which went head-on ashore many years ago. The lantana hedge round the garden, which sometimes concealed a snake.

So, so long ago and, although much has changed - the lovely old house was demolished not long after we left - much is still as it was. The golf course is still there, as are the reefs; the breeze still blows in from the sea, warming as the day unfolds; the coast road still follows the palms across the golf course; and the roar of the breakers destroying themselves on the reef is never-ending.