It was a beautiful summer evening, the kind that makes the days spent in seclusion while the Cape Doctor gives the Peninsula a good blow job worth it.
The temperature was warm and balmy, salt-tinged air drifted gently off the ocean to soothingly caress the hundreds of people who miraculously appear at the beach to make the most of days like this.
I grabbed my camera bag and quickly headed down to the station to catch the next outgoing train. A few minutes later I was the sole occupant of the carriage as we sped past St. James en-route to Fish Hoek beach.
It was packed; ordinary people enjoying a few stolen moments of solace from the mad race we call life. Satisfaction is found in the simplest things: watching your dog run around with its tongue and tail wagging madly; feeling the gentle kiss of summer against your skin and the way the sand crunches up between your toes.
Strolling down the long stretch of beach I squeezed off a few shots, enjoying watching others as they enjoyed themselves… With some disappointment I reached Clovelly corner, this was great, I didn’t want to go home just yet!
By this time the sun was fast approaching what we photographers call “The Golden Hour” – you’ll know it when you see it! Everything is bathed in a golden radiance, a magical contrast to the hum-drum, washed-out colours of everyday life. I sat there admiring the view and enjoyment people where experiencing.
It was only then that I glanced at the old brick wall that runs into the ocean and noticed who this story is really about…
He was leaning back against the wall with his feet stretched out, arms striking a languid pose, bathed in golden light. The “Prince of Paupers” I called him, for such he was. Clothed in old tattered threads, a hoody pulled over his dirty, unkempt hair, I think he more than made up for his lack of material wealth with the sense of peace, joy and fascination that emanated from him.
You see, he knew; he had it right, the upturned corners of his mouth proof enough. I watched him as he sat there smiling and laughing as people a hundred times more fortunate than he ran splashing and shouting along the beach and in the waves.
I felt a sense of kinship with this poor man, someone who you’d pass without noticing in the street. I wished I had a spare suit and board to give to him so that he could paddle out and experience the ocean himself.
I watched him for about an hour until the sun began dipping behind the mountains and the beach started emptying. Not once did I see him frown – there were good vibes all round. Humbled, I packed my bag and started the long walk home, leaving the beach a richer man that day.
By Marschant Escórcio
