Climbing a tower at nine taught me the joy of being alone

I grew up in Kenya and was nine when we went camping by the beach in Mombasa with two other families. I went bodyboarding, watched crabs emerge from holes in the sand, climbed rusty cannons in the old fort and bought colourful strips of kanga fabric. One day my father asked some fishers to take us a mile offshore to the reef; I wanted to stay with my mother but he fixed me with a look and said, “You’ve got no sense of adventure, have you?” so I clambered shakily into the wobbly canoe.

After that frightening ride back, the other children rushed to the playground, but I had spotted a white stone tower hidden in the palm trees. A low entrance led to spiral steps and soon I was on the flat roof, lying on my stomach as palm leaves swished across my back.

I could hear the shouts of my new friends in the distance, yet I felt completely content and had the sudden sense that life might be best when you were on your own. That feeling stayed with me after we returned to England.

Kenya, Mombasa

kenya, mombasa, beach, camping, bodyboarding, reef, canoe, tower, kanga, solitude