In science, the winds flow from points of high pressure towards points of low pressure; essentially cold air flows towards hot air and around.
In greek mythology the winds were the children of the god of the night sky and stars and the goddess of the morning. The north, south, east and west winds were born from that union. It was also told that the winds were kept by a great king on his command and would only let them out to win sea battles, pollinate crops and bring rain to the land.
In Camps Bay however, the wind is like a beast, so strong that it bends waves backwards; and so furious that its howls through hindges of doors and gaps in between window panes. Walls of apartments shake, fences are struck to the grownd, lost laundry end up in somebody else’s backyard.
It’s the southeasterly who is in a very bad mood. And it lets everyone in the peninsula know. ‘I am not happy! I am angry!’ and so do the peoples of the peninsula. It can get very unpleasant.
But, if you care to venture out and face the mad wind. Say ‘Give it to me! Is that all you’ve got?’ You will realise that the wind is only bluffing.
Feel the freshness of the air, the coolness on your skin sweeping away the harshness of the african sun. It’s all a bluff, it’s not so scary after all. It’s actually wonderful, the close feeling of second chances, of getting back on your feet. My skirt is blown off and flashes my behind. It’s a guilty feeling. The wind is being playful.