Belgianmaiden
New member
- Nov 13, 2008
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This is the intro to the novel... Please comment, e.g. does it "pull you in" or ???
Thanks!
The shrill whistle of the "Colonel Ebeya" resounded over the harbour for the third time. Again unheeded.
Haggling continued uninterrupted, perhaps with even greater urgency. They shouted new bids, leapt between boat and quay to inspect goods, loaded yet more plastic buckets, bedding, chickens, bartered goods, onto barges lashed alongside the steamer. And on the decks crowding mamas, unconcerned, cooked bananas on little charcoal stoves.
Nothing much had changed in twenty five years: the same frenetic activity, the only difference laying in the memories of a seven year old when – confused, uprooted, clinging to her mother's sleeve – the water-born shanty had stolen her from her father, a thousand miles upstream.
The unwieldy mass shuddered into motion and slipped away from its mooring. People jumped off the quay trying to get a hold onto the steamer, hanging on for dear life, sliding into the wash.
Pursued by pirogues braving the Zaire river's amber froth and the tangled rise and fall of violet water hyacinths, we edged out of Kinshasa, following the sweet scent that is Africa.
I ‘m back, father, to face the stranger in my childhood home.
I am aware of people copying for their benefit, and I won't give out more. Thank you.
Thanks!
The shrill whistle of the "Colonel Ebeya" resounded over the harbour for the third time. Again unheeded.
Haggling continued uninterrupted, perhaps with even greater urgency. They shouted new bids, leapt between boat and quay to inspect goods, loaded yet more plastic buckets, bedding, chickens, bartered goods, onto barges lashed alongside the steamer. And on the decks crowding mamas, unconcerned, cooked bananas on little charcoal stoves.
Nothing much had changed in twenty five years: the same frenetic activity, the only difference laying in the memories of a seven year old when – confused, uprooted, clinging to her mother's sleeve – the water-born shanty had stolen her from her father, a thousand miles upstream.
The unwieldy mass shuddered into motion and slipped away from its mooring. People jumped off the quay trying to get a hold onto the steamer, hanging on for dear life, sliding into the wash.
Pursued by pirogues braving the Zaire river's amber froth and the tangled rise and fall of violet water hyacinths, we edged out of Kinshasa, following the sweet scent that is Africa.
I ‘m back, father, to face the stranger in my childhood home.
I am aware of people copying for their benefit, and I won't give out more. Thank you.