Life’s a beach for some

The first time I saw him, he was strolling past the only hotel overlooking the beach.

We were on holiday in a small town on the West Coast.

Wearing sandals and old khaki Bermuda shorts, he was obviously not in a hurry to get wherever he was going. His big black dog, though, was.

The animal was towing him along, but he was strong enough to keep the dog at a steady pace. Every now and then he’d stop completely and the dog would obligingly sniff at the closest tree.

Shirtless, I noticed that his skin had a leathery texture to it.

It’s obvious that he had spent too many hours in the sun without sunblock or a hat.

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His hair was dreadlocked, but not hairdresser style – tangled and dirty would be a more apt description. The dog struggled forward again and led his master down to the beach.

They disappeared out of sight.

The next morning, as we headed off for breakfast at one of the local restaurants, I saw him again.

He was sitting on a retaining wall at a street corner, watching over some of the little kids playing on the sand.

He was smiling, but not in a carefree way. There was an element of desperation to it. I thought his smile was an attempt to convince the children – and himself – that it was a beautiful day and that everything would be okay.

The children in the street were playing with various toys. One of the boys took a ball and sat on it in the middle of the road.

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It was an act of defiance. He was like a cocky little rooster crossing the road, demanding that we drive around him.

He was claiming the street as his own. We spent a couple of glorious days in the area, strolling on the beach and treating ourselves to a culinary feast.

We spent another day in Cape Town before heading home to Gauteng.

I wonder if I will ever be able to afford a little house by the sea. Truth be told, living by the sea isn’t always what we imagine – especially when you’re a 10-year-old street kid on the West Coast.