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The matchbox houses stood like rows of rainbow-coloured umbrellas on a deserted beach. The fragrance of spices and curries filled the air. The houses were so close if you smashed a stink bomb in your kitchen, the rotten smell would travel like lightning next door, bringing out all and sundry. The ladies wore sarees and were addressed as aunties. Everyone and anyone was your aunty.
It was almost evening and the moon shone happily, savouring the camaraderie of this carefree community in Durban. The young boys were on the narrow street still playing football. When cars passed they slowed down so the youth hastily dispersed in all directions.
The three little friends were busy playing house with their dolls and cooking make-believe food on their toy stoves. The eldest was Devi, the second eldest Rumba and the youngest Suri.
