7 am, Alfani is not there, but he has laid the elephants (sculptured coconut husks) by the wicker gate that opens onto the beach.
He has added one or two paintings, just in case.
I set off down the sand.
The tide is in, no sign of last night’s sand crabs; the tracks of the hermit crabs dragging their unfathomable load remain.
Walking on.
Three guys are repairing their boat, maybe with shark oil.
“Jambo!”
“Habari.”
“Missouri”
Thumbs up, walk on.
Fishermen.
A Runner.
Yoga under the frangi pangi tree.
Walking on.
No sign of the turtle.
No sign of the turtle pullers.
Clamber on the rocks, enter the abandoned gardens.
A sound overhead; look up.
Monkeys.
Back to the beach, back to the wicker gate.
It has been over an hour; Alfani is there .
“Alfani, Jambo.”
“Jambo”
“Alfani, I’m sorry , the bank refused to give me money, I still have none”
“Tomorrow?”
“No, because we are not going anywhere, no bank”
“Ask Steve”
“I think not”.
“The day after tomorrow.”
“Ok.”
“6 am”.
“No, now is a good time, between 7 and eight.”
“Ok, I trust you. Bye”
Swim.
Sea’s embrace.
Then mango.
Papaya.
Passion fruit.
Pineapple.
Paw paw.
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