four: 100 years in al farah

Me see him stan’ de yudder night/ Right een de road een white moon-light;/ Him toss him arms, him whirl him ’roun’,/ Him stomp him foot urpon de groun’;/ De snaiks come crawlin’, one by one,/ Me hyuh um hiss, me break an’ run—/ De Cunjah man, de Cunjah man,/ O chillen, run, de Cunjah man!
De Cunjah Man, James Edwin Campbell

Barely a few minutes after sitting down under his house, in the deserted curve of the wadi, we are surrounded by his family. There are more little children milling around that we can keep track of, but the best part is when his allegedly century-old father joins us. He can barely see through his thick glasses, and his hearing isn’t much better, so he sits in silence, half-seeing in the twilight, as the last drops of rain seep through the pebbles and away into the night.

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