Quite a number of villagers were gathered under the houses tucked beneath coconut trees. But they were not there to welcome us.
Village kids who usually create loud, excited commotion around us visiting strangers, seemed hesitant and tentatively stayed away from us.
The women, often the most approachable among village adults, did not mind us and went ahead with their little chores while appearing to be absorbed in a discussion of a topic of greatest importance.
And then, at the corner of my eye, I noticed a pair of feet and a shadow move by the window of a nearby house, protruding through the slats of the wall was a long machete. Having had a fatal incident involving machetes (in another country) — this almost sent my threat alarms ringing.
But the emotion floating in the air was not of hostility. It was something else. Something not aggressive. It was something serious but sober. It was sadness.
Sensing from the village chief that it was fine to talk to us, the village kids finally approached, walked with us around the rest of the village, and then escorted us back to the riverbank where we bade goodbye to them. As we pushed our dinghy away from the bank, I threw them a last glance and wondered how these kids would deal with serious community issues in the future when they become among the leaders of the village.
