strumming my pretend guitar in Mombasa

I imagine having long, lanky hair and sun kissed skin as my feet sink in the wet sand. I pull the guitar around from my back and strum a little tune. African children run down the beach to the sound of the music. Ocean crabs dance on the rocks.
Mombasa is a place to let your dreams run free and explore your true self. Days are spent carelessly wandering the beach looking for treasures brought in from the tide. My friend and I find a sea urchin rich in colors of red and purple. He picks it up carefully so that I can more closely examine the creature.
He made it look so easy that hours later I come back across the sea urchin’s path. I try to pick it up and prick my finger deeply, the blood spilling onto the white sand, leaving a trail of red tears.

Luckily it wasn’t poisonous, but it stung for awhile. Lesson learned.

We head out into the Indian ocean to try some snorkeling and search for starfish. With the wreckage remains of a ship from old in the background, we find glorious crustaceans.
Time stands still to let one enjoy the endless lap of waves coming to shore, fisherman heading out to sea as the sun rises, and at the end of the day, you fall asleep to the sound of a guitar slowly strumming it’s song.
Mombasa.

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Wench, bring my ale, what say you?