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Like a broken old guitar, the wind sang monotonously on just one string. The storm could not and would not subside, while the clouds would only gather more moisture. The lightning bolts played around frighteningly and wildly. While convection currents gave birth to giant chunks of ice.

Yes, the weather was inexplicable, unnatural, heavy. That’s why the commuter stared upwards, uncertain. Knowing full well that he would not reach his destination in time. The trees had been stripped down to the last leaf. They were uprooted, scattered and a complete mess.

With the power supply almost irreparably broken, the power lines were like a crow’s nest, entangled in complete disarray. The grain fields were devastated without a single usable ear of wheat. Therefore, the insurer sat there in despair with his hand in his hair. Due to the unprecedented devastation, even the reporter was left without any comment.

This, while he would stare at the mutilated corpse of an old beggar in a drainpipe. The few survivors huddled together in despair like wet chickens. The squatter camp, as well as the rich residential areas, were not spared.

But like a broken old guitar, the storm continued to sing, wailing on just one string. Yes, in its song that tells of an unprecedented hurricane that will not spare the southern region of Africa in devastation.