We make for the river early Sunday morning, take a couple of boats, a picnic, swimwear, head out to the sandbanks. Eat perfectly ripe papaya, drink juice from the cool box. Listen to the radio. Try to rouse ourselves to a game of frisbee, fail in the heat. Sit in the shallows of the fast flowing water to cool down, far too fast to swim against. Walk the circumference of our little sandbank kingdom, watching the birds, the fishermen with their big nets. Water hyacinths, chlorophyll rich, purple flowered. The river is vast, the water copper coloured. Tiny, translucent fish dart erratically away from bare feet. Watch clouds gather dark on the horizon, above the city, back where we cam from, ominous, the storm never materialising.
I am pink from the sun by the time we leave, and feel like I have been on holiday, sand in my hair, between my toes.