A Land Where Sea Fans Lie
As daylight breaks over sleepy Bagamoyo’s coast, tired eyes open to greet a rare and glorious day. A break from weeks baring burdened clouds of mournful grey, we forge through crisp, foam waves, until the shore fades over the blue horizon. With the midday sun set high above, shimmering down upon our hearts, we anchor, and descend like soft, falling rain into an underwater tropical forest. Brimming with flattened, branches, several feet across, yet only an inch or two thick, we are in the land where sea fans lie. Anchored in sand, at mercy to the rolling worlds of wave and shell, we’re enveloped lured deeper into the magical underwater extravaganza. They sway in sync with the misty depths, and subliminally, maximize flow of the deep dark for food supply.
BOOM! I jump, and am shocked and confused, fish scurry to hide in jagged cracks and holes. Dynamite fishing bombs explode in the distance, while undersea worlds meet their grave. I gaze forlornly the silent wavering sea fan colony, perched against the reef, and with time so sweet it hurries away, I ascend and wonder how long they can survive a losing battle.