Cry, the Beloved Country

Original Paragraph:
And this is Shanty Town, my friend.
Even here the children laugh in the narrow lanes that run between these tragic habitations. A sheet of iron, a few planks, hessian and grass, an old door from some forgotten house. Smoke curls from vents cunningly contrived, there is a smell of food, there is a sound of voices, not raised in anger or pain, but talking of ordinary things, of this one that is born and that one that has died, of this one that does so well in school and that one who is now in prison.


Now I am going to re-write some of the sentences and write some comments:

Even here the children laugh, with the joy of people that have nothing yet are happy, in the narrow lanes that run between these tragic habitations. A sheet of iron, that has rusted from the endless dampness of the land, a few planks, hessian and grass, an old door from some forgotten house.





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adverbial clause